


The Sassenach Warrior

by geethefuturedentist



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2020-10-29 13:04:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geethefuturedentist/pseuds/geethefuturedentist
Summary: I thought I’d post my very own fanfic. Some version of this has been bouncing around in my head ever since I first read Outlander in Summer 2016. In this story, Claire is not a time traveler, but a badass with a sword and a mysterious past. Life hasn’t been kind to her. Below her rugged exterior are fears, emotions and desires she never thought herself capable of. New posts whenever I finish writing the chapter!





	1. Highlanders

A biting wind rustled Jamie’s hair as he wrapped his plaid tighter around himself. Head bowed, he allowed himself another quick glance up. Claire was seated on the other side of the fire, looking even more chilled than he was. She had been a bit quiet today, no matter how much Angus had tried to joke with her. She looked deep in thought; he practically saw the wheels turning in her head. They were traveling the Mackenzie lands, collecting this year’s rent owed to the Laird.

Jamie let his gaze linger a bit longer. She was leaning against a fallen tree, sitting cross legged, sharpening her sword. Her furiously curly hair was piled high on top of her head, always out of the way; he longed to see it fall around her shoulders. The fire illuminated her breathtaking whisky eyes and her pale skin which was mostly covered in bruises and dirt at the moment, though it made no difference to Jamie. 

Claire was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, although he knew she’d punch any man who had the balls to say that to her. She was a far better swordsman(woman)? than almost all of the men, not to mention her skill with a bow. It was still strange to have a woman in their midst who was as headstrong and fierce as Claire was. 

They had never seen a woman wearing anything but a corset and a dress. Claire took delight in the looks on their faces when she proudly pronounced that it had been over twenty years since she had worn either. Clad in a dirty white shirt tucked into ragged dark brown pants covered in patches, she looked perfectly comfortable. Her wool jacket was a bit large for her, and a frayed plaid scarf hung loosely from her neck.

Jamie had been tempted more than once to share his plaid, but he was deterred. What if she interpreted his kindness in the wrong way? They had become friends, and he didn’t want to compromise that. But shortly after they met, he quickly stopped denying his feelings for her. 

She was plainly English, as her accent foretold. But when Jamie and the lads had found her, she was all on her own in the Highlands and in quite a sticky situation with some redcoats. Dougal however, remained suspicious of her and wanted to keep her close by at all times. Jamie knew she wanted to leave, and he knew sooner or later she’d do it, no matter what Dougal had to say in the matter. It saddened him, and made him wonder why he was spending his time across from her instead of next to her. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a fond smile as we watched her shivering and cursing to herself. 

———————————————–

It was positively freezing. I groaned inwardly as more wind whipped into my face. My hair was falling down and blowing into my eyes and mouth. One of these days I swear I’m going to shave my bloody head. All around the fire, men were talking and laughing, eating and drinking. 

My gaze eventually landed on Jamie, who looked down quickly. He definitely looked warmer than I was, all wrapped in plaid. I leaned back against the trunk and sighed. Jamie was the first friend I had made in a long time. He was the first person who I didn’t feel the need to keep my guard up around; and thank God for that. It got extremely tiring sometimes. Unlike his uncle Dougal Mackenzie, who was still convinced I was an English spy. 

I knew Jamie enjoyed my company; it was different for him. But if my life had taught me anything, it’s that I mustn’t become too close with anyone. They’ll just be ripped away again. The only person who will always be there to look after me is me, myself and I. I avoided his eyes as I renewed an intense and exaggerated interest in sharpening my sword. 

I had been in Scotland for three months now. Of course I could escape if I wanted to. The physical act of escaping from Dougal and the Highlanders didn’t scare me. It wasn’t the issue. Dougal had something of mine that he knew I couldn’t leave behind: Uncle Lamb’s ring. It used to hang on a chain around my neck. It was now somewhere on Dougal’s person. A small pang of grief overcame me, as it always did, when I thought of Uncle Lamb.

I needed to convince Dougal I was on their side. There was also the nagging problem of what I was going to do when I was on my own again, what with my face becoming quite well known throughout the British Empire. I shook my head, deciding to cross that bridge when I came to it. I got up then to turn in for the night, catching Jamie hastily cast his eyes down yet again.


	2. Not Alone Anymore

_Three Months Earlier_

_It’s odd how quickly one’s life can change, not that mine had gotten off to a swell start anyway. Happenstance and fate become intertwined to create what you never thought possible. For years I clung firmly to the belief that I was a walking attraction for rotten luck. It took a fair bit of time, but much later I realized I was wrong._

I had been walking relentlessly for three days, feet throbbing with each step. The rolling, rocky hills now behind me, I had entered an expanse of forest. Sheer exhaustion necessitated an overnight rest in a large, green glade. I had all but collapsed onto the soft grass the previous day. There was a small pool of water, and it was warm and peaceful. But it was time to get moving. An uneasy twinge of fear lurked at the back of my mind. I packed up my tiny camp, glancing nervously over my shoulder like a skittish animal. It was eerily silent, which could only foretell yet another (possibly deadly) predicament. I still needed to put a bit of distance between myself and the last village, where I had almost received a thorough beating for continuously refusing to give up my horse to a ragged group of men calling themselves The Watch. 

They took my horse. 

After my especially hasty retreat out of England, and riding through nearly half of Scotland, I had heard there was a port in the Highland town of Inverness, where I could finally board a ship again. The minor issue of financing this voyage remained firmly in the back of my mind, for I had nothing. It was strange being this destitute, not knowing where the next meal was coming from or going days on end without human interaction. I supposed I should be accustomed to it by now, it even gave me an odd thrill at times. 

I was reluctant to go, to leave this momentary peace and venture back into the unknown once more. Here, nobody chastised me for wearing trousers or carrying a sword. Sometimes I believed myself a traitor to womankind. Other times I thought perhaps I was its savior. Too often I had been on the receiving end of outright anger. Others merely stared in shock, content to observe from a distance as if watching some sort of exotic show or attraction. Many laughed at me. Of course, my nature is not what one might deem “typical.” My breech of the status quo is offensive to many, but it only served to fuel my passion for fighting, adventure, and knowledge. I thought of Uncle Lamb, who had gifted me all three of these things, so woefully unattainable for countless others. He always knew dolls and lace never satisfied my spirit. He gave me my first bow and taught me how to use it. The only thing I had left of him was his ring, which I kept on a chain around my neck. It gave me comfort, having him close. 

A twig snapped. My reverie dissipated like a fog. I was on my feet in a second, ears strained, listening for more. My breath caught as voices materialized out of the trees. I became completely still, perhaps I’d be swallowed by the shadows, be granted invisibility. I saw a flash of red. 

_Oh God._

I snatched the bow off my back and made to run when I heard, “Oi I found one!”

I had remained frozen and indecisive for a beat too long. 

My heart was threatening to burst out of my chest. I felt my pulse everywhere at once. 

“Where’s the rest of your lads huh?” the redcoat continued, having fully entered the clearing. He was a short man, with a thick neck and a pink face. His teeth were badly stained. 

His small beady eyes nearly popped out in surprise as he took in my pants, boots, and weapons. 

“You’re a lady!” He sputtered. 

“Very good! Your eyesight appears to be functioning normally.” I shot back with a sneer. 

Another soldier had entered the glade. A bit taller than his companion, he seemed much more able to prevail in a fight or a chase. His face reminded me of a rabbit. “Lady or not, she and her company raided our stores!”

While it was completely within the realm of possibility for me to have done this, I stood there wide eyed shaking my head. Plainly, a bunch of hungry and fed up Highlanders had attempted to nip a bit of food and perhaps a cow or a horse from the English stationed in the small town I had avoided the previous day. 

“So you’re just out here all alone, right after we discover the Scots robbed our depository?” He said it in a tone that conveyed he obviously didn’t believe that this was as coincidental as it appeared. 

“Yes! Precisely!” A jolt of anger and desperation shot through me along with the reality that they were not going to believe me no matter what I said.

The rabbit faced man was advancing menacingly while his partner prepared his rifle. I didn’t like the hungry, animalistic way their eyes traveled over me. Suddenly, rough hands grasped the front of my shirt and I felt rotten breath on my face. “Boy she’s a pretty one.” He breathed. 

“How _dare_ you!” I could not bear to imagine how many others he could have done this to, and his feeling of contentment knowing they could do nothing to stop him.

And then, in my typical fashion, I proceeded to ruin any chance I had of a peaceful escape. Grasping his shoulders, I drove my knee up as hard as I could. The building adrenaline caused me to be shaky and clumsy, and I missed my mark. The man looked stunned as we glared at each other for a second. The next thing I registered was a fist colliding with the side of my head. I half dropped to the ground as I felt warm blood oozing down my cheek. Panic rising, I scrambled away on my knees, grabbing the bow off my back. 

“You little _bitch_!” He shouted. “Who do you think you are?” 

“_Not_ your plaything!” Shaking from anger now rather than fear, I had made my decision. Arrow in place, I slowly pulled the string back. 

At that moment, the sound of running footsteps became apparent behind me. A small squeak of fear threatened to escape my throat. I was surrounded. My mind was frantically working out some fantastical lie to tell if they decided to take me and question me. A petite, innocent lady shouldn’t and wouldn’t be pointing her lethal homemade arrows (lovingly sharpened to perfection) in a good Englishman’s face. There is most definitely something amiss with that.

“Surely ye don’t mean the lass any harm? She isna with us. She travels alone.” 

My shoulders slumped in relief at the unmistakable Scottish voice behind me. My accent had earned me mistrust from many of the Scots I had met since arriving here. But overall I found them to be very kind and hospitable people who placed a high emphasis on family. The man behind me was undoubtedly one of the raiders that I had been mistaken for. I was thankful he had done what my less than rational mind had conveniently chosen to leave out before I raised the bow. At least now the fact that I had never seen these men before was now out in the open. 

Behind, I heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. He knew as well as I that this had no chance of ending peacefully.

“No harm at all.” The soldier said, a nasty smile creeping up his face. He stepped closer, rifle now raised. I stepped back. 

“I _dare_ you to try that again.”

“Now what would an English lady be doing out here in the mud with a bunch of filthy Scots, pretending to be a man?”

The man spoke from behind me again, “I tell ye she had no part in this. Let her be.” His voice was deep and soft, but not void of threat. I wanted to turn around to see who the voice belonged to, but I also didn’t want to turn my back on the redcoats.

“I am not pretending to be anything. What you see before you is simply a woman who happens to despise corsets. Dreadful things in my opinion. Trousers enable much more movement and freedom don’t you agree? I wouldn’t be able to do this!” 

I was only vaguely aware of my fingers releasing the string. Moments like these always seem to happen in slow motion. I heard a sharp inhalation from the Scot at my back.

The plump man screamed as the arrow pierced his boot. His gun fell to the ground. The other dropped his rifle in surprise. Fuck. I had only meant to shoot the ground near his feet to scare them a bit. Perhaps my aim was a bit too good. I was in big trouble now, and I could only dig myself a deeper grave from here on out.

I turned and ran … 

… right into a very large, very red-headed Scot. 

“Ooof!” The sound of the breath exiting my lungs all at once. 

He was so solid. 

“Come on!” He said urgently. I staggered back, reeling from the impact as he caught me by the wrist and began towing me along with him. I allowed a glance back. It appeared that two more soldiers had reached their comrades, apparently unlucky in their search for the missing goods and the thieves responsible. One had stayed behind with the injured man, who was now writhing on the ground. It didn’t take long for the other two to begin their pursuit, running to mount their horses. 

We were both sprinting now. The trees whipped past and my blood pounded in my ears. Suddenly he gave a high pitched whistle, and then I heard great hoofbeats from somewhere off to the right. A giant black stallion came trotting alongside us. We stopped and he quickly swung onto the horse and began to pull me up. 

“I can do it!” I said hotly, yanking my hand from his grasp.

"Are ye sure about that lass?” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. But of course just to spite me, the horse proved too massive for my short stature. I saw that the side of his face had lifted in a smirk as I settled into the saddle behind him. Soon we were galloping through the forest, me haphazardly clutching this stranger’s waist with my hair flying wildly in my face as the turbulence increased. His own shoulder length auburn curls flew out behind his head. I still hadn’t gotten a decent look at his face.

The horse jumped a large fallen tree trunk and I suddenly became airborne in the saddle. I blindly groped for a handhold and grabbed his kilt to anchor myself. He looked back in surprise; his ears tinged pink. I felt a flush up my neck as well, in spite of the wind whistling in my ears. I had been in Scotland long enough to know what a Scotsman wore under his kilts. I was about to mumble an apology when he jerked the horse sharply to the left and began to ride back the way we came, like a giant circle.

“And just where are we going?”

“Doubling back. They think we still ride ahead of them. We’re going to find the others and ride back into the Mackenzie lands.” he said in concentration, steering the horse away from more fallen trees.

“We?” I’d known him for a good five minutes. I had no idea who he was with, or what he thought he was going to do with me. He was speaking as though none of this mattered. The soldiers were now riding well ahead of us. They hadn’t seen us turn. I thought I heard him sigh in relief. He slowed the horse to a walk and I relaxed my grip on his waist. My hands were clammy.

“I, um, thank you.” I told him, swinging my leg over the horse. Determined not to have any help with the dismount, I slid gracelessly off the horse’s back and almost pitched forward into the mud.

“No problem at all,” he too, had dismounted. I now saw that his eyes were the clearest blue, like the sky on the brightest of days. He had strong cheekbones and a prominent forehead, over which hung a mess of red curls. I then began to register the events of the past ten minutes.

“Allow me to clarify however,” I said indignantly, “that I don’t want you thinking that I was too scared to kill them. This arrow could have easily went straight through his eye had I told it to! And furthermore, I could have escaped without help. I am not some damsel in distress.” I crossed my arms.

I was babbling.

“I dinna doubt it, Sassenach.” He smiled. 

_Sassenach_. I’d heard that term before. But when he used it, it sounded different. It didn’t sound discriminatory or mistrustful, but endearing. 

Suddenly, I became aware of the absence of the comforting weight around my neck. My hand flew to the spot, finding only bare skin. Uncle Lamb’s ring was gone. It must have fallen off. I cursed quietly. 

“Will ye tell me your name?” 

“I - It’s Claire.”

“Claire.” He smiled, as he said it in his odd Highland way. “I’m …”

“Jamie!” came a cry from someways off. “We thought we lost ye lad!”

Another kilted man was riding toward us. He was short, with a big brown beard. 

“My godfather, Murtagh.” Jamie murmured to me. 

Murtagh raised an eyebrow at the sight of me. He looked me up and down for several seconds. “Ye’ve found yerself a lady then?” He said finally. 

“I - she, redcoats …no!” Jamie stuttered, face flushing scarlet. 

I must have made a face for Murtagh laughed loudly and said, “she doesna seem too taken with ye does she?” 

I heard more riders approaching and decided the time had come to take my leave. “It was very nice to meet you both,” I attempted to mask the anxious tone in my voice. “But I had really better be going.” I began to back away slowly.

“And who might this _English_ lass be? Following us were ye?” A new, accusatory voice asked. He was tall, as tall as Jamie. He didn’t have much hair on his head but made up for it with a dark brown beard streaked with gray. His emphasis on the word English did not go unnoticed. Annoyed, I exhaled loudly and ran a hand over my face. I should have run the second Jamie stopped the horse. But first I needed them to tell me the way to Inverness, and then I could put this whole little hiccup behind me.

With as much politeness as I could muster at this point, I tried to seem as innocent as possible. “Please sir, I was just trying to find my way to Inverness. Could you help me?” 

“Inverness. Is that where your consort is waiting?” 

So he wasn’t going to make this easy. I glanced helplessly at Jamie and Murtagh, as the last two riders of their company had ridden up behind them, watching with interest. “Uncle, Claire means no harm. She almost killed a redcoat!”

“Aye but what is she doing wandering these woods alone? She may be a pretty lass, but she’s also an English lass Jamie lad.” 

Jamie had gone red in the face once more as my last shred of patience disappeared. “What exactly do you mean to say?” 

“What I mean to say is that I canna be takin’ any chances letting ye go free should ye be an English spy!” His voice had risen considerably. 

“What I’m doing here is none of your business! Although I can assure you I have no interest whatsoever in your activities and I am most certainly not a spy!” 

“Rupert, Angus, have you ever seen a woman quite like this one?” He switched his gaze from me to the others. 

“That I have not.” One of the men answered. He was round but strong, with long light brown hair and a beard to match. “I suppose it’s wee bit suspicious.” 

I scoffed at him, and he shrugged. “Why should you be so nervous that I was a spy anyway?” I said, testing him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jamie bend to pick something off the ground and a gasp escaped my throat. It was my ring. 

My accuser stepped forward and snatched it from him. 

“Dougal!” Jamie tried to snatch it back. He looked at me apologetically. 

An insincere smile appeared on Dougal’s face. “’Tis evident this trinket is of great importance to our new guest. I think I shall hold on it for a while.”

“No please!” I begged. 

“It would be foolish of ye to attempt an escape lass,” he said. “At least now I am guaranteed ye wilna be leaving us. Show’s over lads, we’d best be on our way back to Leoch. The Sassenach will ride wi’ Jamie.” 

And that was that. 

I stuck my arm up in the air with a scowl. Jamie’s large warm hand wrapped around mine and hoisted me up onto the monstrous horse yet again. 

“I’m sorry about my uncle.” He said as we began to ride behind the others.

I didn’t answer him, but pressed my lips together and folded my arms like a child. We swayed back and forth with the horse’s movements. Ahead, numerous pairs of eyes that thought they were being discreet stole glances back at us. 

“He won’t keep me here you know.” 

“Ooch I think ye’ve made that much clear, Sassenach. Give him time and no cause for suspicion aye?” 

“He seems a very difficult man to budge.”

“That he is. Will ye be getting on to Inverness then? After ye leave.” It sounded as though he expected me to elaborate on this. 

“Yes.” I said shortly, hoping my tone relayed the fact that I was not about to volunteer any information about my plans or reasons. There was no one left on earth who I would trust. He seemed to get the message. 

“That’s a handsome sword,” he commented with admiration. “I’d wager it does well in combat.” 

That was the moment I took a liking to this Scot. His remark was made in reference to the weapon itself, rather than passing judgement on me for wielding it. 

After that, we talked pleasantly. We discussed his sword as well, an extremely heavy thing that was not quite as agile as mine, but ruthless in a fight. 

“Do you use it much?” I asked excitedly, hoping for a story. 

“Oh aye this hunk of metal saved my neck numerous times while I was fighting in France.” 

We passed the next hour or two in companionable conversation. We talked of his time in France, and he spoke of the clan culture which dominated the Highlands. I’d always found upon first meeting somebody new, I draw conclusions and pass judgement subconsciously. I had been prepared to lump Jamie together with Scots like his uncle and the other Mackenzies, as he told me they were called. However, he lacked much of the narrow-mindedness and superstition I had previously encountered, not limited to Scotland. He was educated, like I was.

As the sun dropped and the shadows lengthened, Dougal declared that Leoch must wait until tomorrow. 

I was rolling out my thin blanket away from the others when Dougal, seemingly more calm than before, spoke to me. 

“I know ye said ’tis none of our business, but that answer wilna be accepted by Himself. He’ll want to know what an English lady was doin’, roamin’ around so close to the Mackenzie lands.” 

A small jolt of dread. He was right. If I was going to be questioned by their chief I had better come up with some believable excuse. I would make up a story then, and pray I’d be able to look the laird dead in the eye when I told it. Restless sleep overtook me.


	3. Mistrust

The first thing I realized the next morning was that my feet were no longer aching. The second thing was that this was true because I had spent most of yesterday sitting on a colossal horse in front of an equally colossal Scot. 

_Oh. Right._

I hadn’t even opened my eyes and already my tension and agitation were through the roof. Perhaps I could pretend I was dead so they’d leave me alone, like a dog. 

“Get up lass.” The toe of a boot gently tapped my shoulder. 

My eyes screwed shut even tighter and I gave an annoyed moan; the one that translates to _please let me sleep._

The side of my head was crusted with dried blood and throbbed fiercely as I attempted to drag my body into a sitting position. They were all staring at me. 

“Well?” I began. “Is there any food left or must I catch us breakfast?” Without waiting for an answer I slung the bow over my shoulder and stalked off into the woods. Before long, heavy footfalls were crunching the leaves in my wake. Dougal had sent one of the men to watch me. I sighed exasperatedly and whirled around. 

“If you _must_ be out here supervising me, do try and tread lightly. Or better yet, just stop moving altogether. You’re scaring anything I might be able to catch.” 

“My apologies, mistress.” Rupert, startled by the outburst, stopped and leaned against a tree. 

“Claire will do just fine.” I told him, stooping to examine the ground. 

“’Tis just that Dougal prefers to have ye within someone’s sight at all times,” he said. 

“So I can see,” I replied dryly. “He is quite a cautious man, especially given the fact that we have already established that I will not be trying to escape. Yet.” I added darkly. 

“That will just be Dougal’s nature. As war chieftain of clan Mackenzie, he is always prepared for the worst. I suppose that’s why he thinks ye a spy in the first place.” 

“Do _you_ think me a spy?” I asked, figuring I had nothing to lose by putting him on the spot. 

“I - I dinna ken,” he replied after a long, nervous pause. “But all the lads agree it was verra peculiar, findin’ an English lassie quite like you all the way out here.” 

For the first time, I realized just how peculiar that must have been for them. I grudgingly decided they had a right to be cautious, but not to the point of holding me against my will. 

“Do you even know what happened yesterday?” I asked, eager to tell the story to perhaps persuade him towards my innocence. 

“Oh aye, Jamie told us after ye passed out last night. He wouldna shut up about it come to think,” he laughed. “Said ye must be the bravest lass in the world, holdin’ yer own against those thievin’ menaces.” 

“He … said that?” I said, one side of my mouth rising in an involuntary smile. “Wait! Shh!” I waved my arm in Rupert’s direction, gesturing to keep quiet. 

“But I wasna even …” 

“I said shh!” I cut him off, jabbing my finger repeatedly towards the dense trees ahead of me. About fifty feet away, there was a small deer feasting on some low hanging leaves. It was barely visible behind all the foliage. 

“How did ye even see …” 

“Shut up!” I said in a high pitched whisper. 

It was a difficult shot. There was a very high chance of hitting one of the two trees on either side of the animal. Breathing deeply and clearing my head, I readied the bow. Suddenly, an unpleasant but all too plausible thought crossed my mind. Who was to say that I couldn’t kill Rupert and run off? Hide in the trees and get Dougal as well? I could grab the ring and run like hell. I shook my head. I was a lot of things. But a cold blooded murderer wasn’t one of them. There were people who deserved my arrows much more. I reminded myself to be patient. 

The deer fell to the ground. Rupert let out a cheer, and I let out a long breath. 

“That was some fine archery Claire! Where did ye learn to do that?” He said excitedly as we approached the kill. 

“From my uncle.” I told him. He bent down to retrieve the deer. “Hey! I can carry it!” I did not need anyone carrying anything for me. Besides, the deer was relatively small. But most importantly, _I_ was the one who killed it. I hoisted it onto my shoulders.

When I plopped the deer on the ground back at the camp, I was pleased by the sight of many open mouthed men. All except Jamie of course, who smiled broadly and said, “I told you all she’s an incredible shot!” Even Dougal had the grace to look impressed.

_________________________________________________________________

As Castle Leoch loomed closer, the knot in the pit of my stomach felt heavier. I had no idea what awaited me. For the past day, I had just been getting used to my current company of Scots, and to think how many more were about to join it. As expected, numerous pairs of eyes were glued to me as we entered the town of Crainsmuir. I now had to crane my neck up to see the castle, an imposing structure with lots of tiny windows. It was bustling with activity as we entered the courtyard. Once again, the inhabitants of Leoch seemed to stop what they were doing to downright shamelessly stare at me. I felt Jamie stiffen behind me. He didn’t like it. I couldn’t explain how or why I knew that, but I just did. As Dougal dismounted and happily greeted a little red-haired boy, the trance was broken. Returning to their work and conversations, their eyes kept wandering in my direction as Jamie helped me off the horse. 

Murtagh was now laughing with a stout woman with a kind, round face. Her mouse brown hair was tucked up under a bonnet. She turned toward us.

“Jamie!” She exclaimed as she pulled him into a hug. Then she caught sight of me, and for the first time I realized that I must look like a lunatic, trousers aside. I gave a nervous laugh and suddenly the wound on my temple began to throb. My hands defensively rose to my head; my hair was falling out of its binding and wayward curls stuck out in all directions. I gingerly pulled out a twig and flicked it away. 

“Mrs. Fitz, this is Claire.” He introduced me before she could say anything. She blinked, and looked from Jamie to me and back again. Whatever she had been thinking of saying did not make it out of her mouth. 

Instead she said, “How do ye do Claire?” I shook her hand. 

“Er, hello,” I tried to smile like a normal person. Mrs. Fitz was squinting at Murtagh, clearly expecting him to elaborate on my presence. 

“Well,” Murtagh began, “we found Claire alone out on the Great Glen, or I suppose Jamie was the one who found her.” 

“Aye,” Jamie picked up the story, “I was tryin’ to find the lads after we separated when the redcoats started chasin’ us. Instead I found Claire takin’ on two o’ them! They almost captured her!” 

Mrs.s Fitz’s eyebrows went up. 

“Although Dougal doesna think so,” Jamie muttered. 

“And so Claire is going to be havin’ an audience with Colum,” Murtagh finished. 

Her eyebrows shot up even further. “Looking like that?! She looks like she’s been through hell and back!” She seemed horrified. “We must get ye cleaned up dear, yer head must hurt something fierce.” She began ushering me inside, “ye must eat something as well.” I immediately liked her motherly qualities, something I wasn’t much accustomed to. 

We entered a long, dim hallway lit with torches. An uncomfortable feeling of being swallowed up came over me. It almost felt like I was entering a prison, never to see the light of day again. One look back to see the fading light. Jamie was right behind us, and I was glad of it. He seemed like the only friendly face I had come across in this whole mess, and the only one who completely believed me, and didn’t pressure me with questions. We arrived in a long space with a low ceiling with dozens of pots and knives and unprepared meat and vegetables; the kitchen. It was empty at the moment, save for a teenage girl with long, pale blonde hair. She had been preparing a cup of tea. Her eyes widened when she saw us. I followed her gaze, which led directly to Jamie’s face. 

“Good afternoon Grannie,” she said to Mrs. Fitz. “Hello, Jamie. It’s been much too long!” Her cheeks turned pink. 

Jamie nodded distractedly, “Aye, ’tis good to see ye, Laoghaire.” 

“Laoghaire dear, this is Claire. I suppose she’ll be staying here at Castle Leoch for the time being.” Mrs. Fitz introduced me. 

“Greetings to ye, Mistress Claire,” the girl curtseyed, but her eyes remained on Jamie. I nodded slightly and gave a small smile in return. 

“I’ve brought ye here to wash up and have a wee snack. Jamie can help ye. Laoghaire and I will prepare ye a bed and some clean clothes.” She gave us towels and took her granddaughter by the hand, prying her out of Jamie’s personal space and out of the kitchen. 

“Thank you very much!” I called after her. “Someone seems interested in you!” I elbowed Jamie in the arm. 

“Ach no,” he looked away. “I barely know the lass. Let’s get cleaned up aye?” He gestured to a basin of water, clearly eager to change the subject. 

I gratefully splashed the water into my face and gently scrubbed my fingers over the cut. It stung. Jamie exhaled strongly from behind me. “Does it hurt much? I wish I had found ye earlier, Sassenach. I could have prevented him from grabbin’ ye.” 

“I was lucky you were there at all, Jamie. There is really no need to feel guilty.” 

“Have ye any idea what ye’re going to say to the Laird? After that scene with the redcoats, and of course Dougal, it seems no one trusts ye, be it English or Scots.” 

I gave an annoyed grunt. I had been focusing all of my energy on the task at hand, simply washing my face. Now I was again worrying about all the lies I had to tell in order to protect myself. 

“I am going to tell him what he wants to hear, and then I am going to get my ring back, and get as far away from your uncles as possible.” 

“I can share in that sentiment,” he said grimly. “They think I am after the title of Laird of Clan Mackenzie when Colum dies.” 

“He is ill?” I asked, reaching for a cloth to dry my face. 

“Er, aye. I suppose you’ll see shortly.” He answered, stepping up to the basin. 

“And you don’t want to be Laird?” I already knew the answer. 

“I’m no Mackenzie. I’m just a fugitive living on a soldier’s pay.” 

So he couldn’t claim the name of his true clan. He couldn’t go home. He was dependent on Dougal and the Mackenzies to provide for him. Water dripped down his face creating streaks in the dirt as he set his teeth and pressed his lips into a thin line. He hated it. 

“A fugitive?” I couldn’t hide the curiosity in my voice. “For what?” 

He smiled ruefully. “Obstruction. I was defending my sister’s honor from a certain Englishman named Black Jack Randall,” he spat the name. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the side of the basin. 

“I take it he had his way with her all the same?” He winced and closed his eyes. I had guessed correctly. “I’m sorry, Jamie.” 

“’Tis not the worst of it,” he said softly. “Jonathan Randall is the scum of this earth.” He paused, and seemed to come to a decision. 

“Look,” he whispered. His hands came around behind him and lifted the tattered linen shirt halfway up his back. My eyes widened and I inhaled sharply. Slowly, I reached out a hand. My fingertips lightly drew across the web of raised flesh. An intricate maze of scars ran in all directions across his back. He was as taut as the string of my bow. His hands trembled slightly.

“He did this to you?” 

“Twice,” he choked out. “I had never seen someone enjoy himself so much. But that still isna all of it.” He let the shirt drop and turned to face me. I said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“I might have only gotten away with one flogging, had I given my body over to Randall. When I refused, he had resolved to be as ruthless as he possibly could.” Jamie’s eyes remained on the floor. 

I reached out to place my hand on his shoulder. “I would have done exactly the same thing.” 

He gave a half smile, “I ken ye would have, Sassenach.” 

In that moment I considered spilling my life out to him. He had literally just shown me his scars. I was overcome to know that he had placed this amount of trust in me. I somehow got the feeling that there were very few others who knew about the scars, let alone seen them. But my instinct to protect myself from anything and anyone was too strong. I was the only one who had my back. But I almost felt guilty for not giving something back to Jamie in exchange for the immense faith he had given me. 

“And then you escaped, obviously,” I chose instead to have him finish the story. 

“Aye, Dougal got me out, and brought me to France. I have only just returned to Scotland, a fugitive in my own home. Ye dinna ken what it’s like.” 

“Don’t know what it’s like? Don’t be so quick to assume things.” I snapped. “I _do_ know what it’s like. Look at me. What do you think I’m _doing_ here? I’m _running_.” He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed at a loss for words. I immediately regretted the outburst, both because he didn’t deserve it and I because I had just volunteered way too much information. It seemed I _had_ given him something in return after all. 

“I’m sorry, I …” he stammered, but he was cut off. Mrs. Fitz had come back. A nod of approval at my now clean, non-bleeding face. 

“That’s much better. Colum is expectin’ ye soon dear, come wi’ me.” She turned back around the corner into the hallway, and I began to follow. 

“Claire,” Jamie grabbed my hand, and I felt no impulse to yank it away. There was an urgent look in his eyes. “Ye need not be scairt of me, nor anyone else here. So long as I’m with ye.” 

I gulped. _And when you’re not with me?_

__________________________________________________________________

Both of my hands were raised in defense and I backed up toward the window. 

“No. Absolutely _not_.” 

“Now Claire, be reasonable. Ye canna enter the Laird’s chamber wearin’ that!” She thrust the dress out in my direction and I flinched. It had flowers on it. She had already tugged all of my hair back into its usual bun, but about ten times tighter than I do it. 

“I can and I will. I know you mean well, Mrs. Fitz. I mean you no disrespect. But unless the Laird himself comes down here and succeeds in wrestling my body into that thing, I will _not_ be wearing it.” 

A knock at the door. It was Dougal. “Come wi’ me lass,” he said. “Thank ye, Mrs. Fitz for makin’ her look … somewhat presentable. 

The Laird’s chamber was enormous, almost as large as the kitchen. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Several bird cages inhabited the room as well. There was a large oak desk sitting in front of the window. The Laird himself was about half the size of his younger brother. I could now see what Jamie had meant. Colum’s legs looked like gnarled old tree trunks, and it looked painful to do much walking. I supposed his condition was worsening over time, as was the paranoia over who would be the new Laird. 

His back was facing me, his hands clasped behind. I walked over to one of the cages. “Do ye find the birds fascinating?” His voice was gravelly and I jumped. 

“I find them delightfully ironic,” I said dryly. He chuckled. 

“So ye ken why ye’re here, then.” He finally turned around. Long gray hair fell to his shoulders and his beard was kept short. His blue eyes betrayed no expression about my apparel or head wound. 

“All I know is that I’d like to relieve any suspicions you may have and be on my way.” 

“Getting right to it then,” he pulled out a chair. “Please sit.” 

“No thank you, I’ll stand.” A defense mechanism. I took a deep breath. “Your brother believes me to be a spy for the English, and he seems quite proud of himself at having ‘captured’ me.” 

Colum chuckled again, my characterization of his younger brother apparently quite accurate. “I take it Dougal has told you what happened?” 

“Aye, ye were wanderin’ around the Mackenzie boarders, armed to the teeth. Ye were in the company of some redcoat soldiers in pursuit of the Scots when Jamie found ye.” I winced. For what Colum lacked in physical strength, he made up for with the way he chose his words. 

It now appeared that I was in league with the English soldiers, helping chase down the Scots after the raid. We then staged the attack on my person just so that I would be captured by said Scots and would thus have ample opportunity to spy upon them, and report back to the English. “That’s your trademark is it?” I said, challenging him. “Twisting something in order to make it fit your own beliefs.”

“My main concern is the safety of this clan, and if there’s the slightest chance that can be compromised, I canna let ye go anywhere. So far all ye’ve told me is that ye are not a spy, and nothing else.” 

“So you’re looking for my life story? I was trying to return to my uncle, he is the only family I have left. My horse was stolen from me and I got lost.” It was unexpectedly painful to speak of Uncle Lamb as if he were still alive. The Laird’s eyes narrowed. That still did not explain what I had been doing in Scotland in first place, and he knew it. He did not ask, but used my omission as condemning evidence. 

“I am sure ye understand why ye must stay here. Until I have reason to believe ye otherwise, ye shall be an honored guest of Clan Mackenzie.” 

I snorted. _Guest._

“However,” he went on. “I’ve made some assumptions as to how ye perceive my brother. Ye will soon learn, if ye havena already, that he loathes the English more than all of us because he seems to be the only one willing to act upon it. I will not be surprised to discover that the raid was his idea in the first place. I am unable to oversee him, as ye can see. He is reckless and blinded by emotions.” 

“What kind of emotions?” I crossed my arms, intrigued. 

“Ah, smart girl. The emotions that accompanied the first Jacobite Rising, to give just one example.” 

“I see. So what is it you are trying to ask of me?” I could smell it from a mile away when someone wanted something. 

“Well, if ye are not a spy, as ye say, I suppose I am askin’ ye to try yer skill at it.” 

“Why in the world would you trust me?” I asked, bewildered. 

“Innocent until proven guilty, I imagine.” He spread his hands. “As the only one in this castle who has no prior connections either to me or Dougal, I can trust ye to act as a third party. Until ye give me reason not to, that is.” 

__________________________________________________________________

I lay in bed that night, going over the strange dynamic that was the ruling force of Clan Mackenzie. Jamie was smart to not want anything to do with it, although I could see he possessed the qualities of both his uncles. While they worked together, they clearly did not agree on particular matters and a certain mistrust hovered between them. I silently made a pact with myself to play double agent, to see which brother would grant me my freedom first.


	4. Fear of Flames

Much of the next three days involved cold rain, Rupert following me everywhere I went, and a great deal of sleeping. I hadn’t spoken to Colum or Dougal but I knew beyond doubt that they were both aware of my activities at any given moment. I felt like a caged animal and it was only getting worse, especially because there was nothing I could do for myself at present in order to facilitate my release (or escape). A mundane atmosphere had settled over Castle Leoch after the commotion of my first day, but it would not last for long. Rupert and Angus found me in the grand hall on the fourth morning, eating porridge. They approached me purposefully; they wanted something. 

“Good mornin’ to ye Claire,” said Angus cheerfully. I raised an eyebrow, mouth full of porridge. 

“Out with it.” 

“We canna be polite and say good mornin’?” Rupert said. 

“Oh my apologies, good morning. Now out with it.” The spoon clattered in the bowl. 

“Well,” Angus began, “the Gathering is in just a few days…” 

“Just a moment, will somebody please tell me what this Gathering is?” I had heard it mentioned many times during my short stay but I hadn’t paid much attention. However, it was beginning to sound like a big deal. It was beginning to sound like my way out. 

“Oh aye, there hasna been a Gathering since we were bairns! ’Tis when our clan come from all over the Mackenzie lands to swear loyalty to the Laird.” Angus moved his hands around as he spoke. 

Rupert cut in. “But ’tis also a great celebration of our clan. We tell stories, we dance, we eat. It’s a drunken spectacular occasion. I’ve been lookin’ forward to it for years!” 

“Drunken?” I asked with interest. 

“Colum brings out his Rhenish and there’s rarely a sober moment for the entire week!” He said. 

The alcohol was of interest to me, but not because I wanted to drink it. “So why is it you require my assistance?” 

“Word of the deer ye shot the other morning has traveled ‘round Leoch, and we’d like ye to come wi’ us to hunt some game for the feast,” Angus said, finally getting to the point. 

“Ah. I see. Why should I be inclined to help? I am a captive after all.” I wanted to seem unwilling. But truthfully, this was the perfect opportunity to investigate the lands surrounding Castle Leoch. The goal was to facilitate my escape by becoming familiar with the area, to slip well out of range before anyone knew I was gone. I had decided on the spot to use the Gathering as a diversion, and the Rhenish to get my ring back. 

“Ye’ve got the sharpest eyes and the deadliest shot, ’tis yer chance to show the men how it’s done,” Rupert was trying to flatter me. I pretended to mull it over. 

“Fine, I will help you. But whoever is accompanying us on this expedition better not be stomping around and scaring the whole damn forest.” 

__________________________________________________________________

“I am _just_ going to the stables. You can watch me walk there and back!” I threw my hands up in the air. I needed a horse for this hunting brigade and I wanted to speak with Jamie in private. He had been spending much of the last few days tending the horses. 

“But Dougal…” Rupert began, then he seemed to give up. I think he wanted a break from me as much as I wanted one from him. “Fine, but have Jamie walk ye back aye?” 

I walked up the hill to the stable, finally alone. My apprehension increased with each step. I felt compelled to clear the air regarding my revelation three days prior. While fairly certain that he harbored no hostility or resentment at the outburst, I had shared something I had been meaning to take to my grave, however soon I might end up in it. The stable was at the crest of the hill and I stopped for a moment of peace, surveying the valley. An instant where I thought of nothing but this exact point in time, while forgetting all the others. The wind bore the fresh smell of rain. There were rolling gray clouds. The surrounding countryside was beautiful. It felt ancient, and I suppose it was. My roots did not share this quality; there was history here. It made me feel like outsider, an intruder. A soft deep voice drifted over to me on the wind. 

I quietly approached the entrance to the stable. The interior was dim and warm. Jamie was not aware of my presence, and I watched him for a moment. He stood in front of a majestic white filly, about six feet away. His back faced me; the scars criss-crossed underneath the fabric. I wished to comfort him again. His rough but gentle hands were running down the horse’s neck and mane as he spoke lowly in a completely different language, as ancient and harsh as the land. It seemed to have quite an effect on the horse, and on me as well. I found I had relaxed, the tension escaping my shoulders and jaw. With absolutely no notion of what he said, I could not help but listen nonetheless. Being drawn in by an invisible force, I took step closer and then … 

I ruined everything. 

The horse was just as aware of my presence as Jamie was. I suppose merely saying that I startled it is a massive understatement. The horse reared up on its hind legs with a wild high-pitched whinny, knocking Jamie backwards onto the ground. The grating speech that fell from his lips could only be profanity, and I didn’t have to speak that language to know it. As he tried to scramble to his feet I had come behind to help him up. He turned to see me and a look of confusion crossed his face. The tantrum not quite finished, the horse’s powerful legs shot back and kicked over the lantern that was sitting on the stool. We watched it shatter on the floor and ignite the large pile of hay next to it. It quickly began to spread. 

Flames danced before my eyes and suddenly I was back in Uncle Lamb’s house. I was struggling to breathe, desperately trying to reach him, so we could escape. I couldn’t find him … couldn’t save him. It’s my fault. I screamed for him. It was getting hotter and hotter … 

Someone was calling out for me … _Uncle Lamb?_

… “Sassenach! _Claire!_” Jamie’s hands were frantically shaking me. I had ended up curled in a ball on the ground, both hands shielding my head. They were trembling violently. 

“Ye must help me put the fire out before it burns down the entire stable!” The other horses were going mad in their stalls. He grasped my hand and pulled me to my feet. 

“No. No …” I was shaking my head as I tried to back away. Jamie grasped my hand tighter. 

“Claire. It will be okay. The fire isna that large yet, we can still stop it. I won’t let anything hurt you. I promise.” 

After he had tied up the white horse outside, we were both running back and forth to the water trough filling and refilling buckets to throw on the fire. Several minutes later we were sitting on the floor, backs against the wall and breathing heavily. A large puddle of water flooded the stable and me and Jamie were dripping wet. I gripped my knees with my hands in an effort to stop them from shaking. My head was thrown back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched so tightly it hurt. Tears stung the corners of my eyes but I would be damned if I let them fall. We sat in silence for many minutes. 

“Ye’re afraid of fire?” Jamie asked softly. 

I nodded once, eyes still closed. Somehow this felt better than to verbally admit it to him. 

“It’s okay, Claire,” he turned to face me. “Everyone has their own fears and demons, I dinna think any less of ye.” 

“I do,” I whispered. It wasn’t just the fire in itself, and I could tell he knew that. 

As always, he could also tell I didn’t wish to speak about it and pressed me no further. “Please, don’t mention this to anyone,” I pleaded. 

He smiled, and I knew then he would say nothing about my previous admission as well. “Your secret is safe with me.”

I chuckled darkly. _Yes, one of them._

__________________________________________________________________

Surprisingly, the small hunting trip passed without incident. I had hoped it would help me gain some trust. However, it was clear for the time being that Claire Beauchamp would remain a guest of Clan Mackenzie.

The men were moving the large stag and the two wild hogs I had killed into the kitchen when we returned to Leoch. I flopped down a bench in the nearby garden, Rupert’s watchful eyes on me from the doorway. I looked up to see a woman gathering herbs. She was tall and thin, with waist length red hair. She spoke to me, and I wished Jamie was there instead. Meeting new people in this situation was proving dangerous for me.

“Claire is it? The Sassenach.” Her eyes were piercing green. It didn’t sound the same as when Jamie said it. 

My guard up once more, I answered her. “And you are?” 

“Geillis Duncan, I live in the town of Crainsmuir. I use herbs and medicine to help certain … ailments.” 

I had heard her name before, whilst wandering about the castle bored to tears one day. She was married to Arthur Duncan, the town fiscal. It had come to my understanding that she was revered by some for her abilities to heal using herbs. Others however, suspected her of witchcraft. I was curious what she thought of these opinions, no doubt she was aware of them. 

“You know there are some people who find your methods suspicious,” I challenged her. 

“Oh aye, they say I’m a witch.” She wasn’t the least bit perturbed by it.

I had dwelt upon the reality of witchcraft and the supernatural many times. While I doubted the existence of things such as casting spells or bending someone to your will, I couldn’t deny the existence of something greater out there, something nobody could wrap their head around. I supposed this was saying a lot, considering everyone else in my midst would not hesitate to hang anyone whom they thought consorted with such practices. I imagined that Geillis was only safe due to the important status of her husband. 

“You arena from here, are ye Claire?” She asked suddenly 

“Clearly not,” I answered, exaggerating my accent for emphasis. 

“Ah but ye’re not from England either.” 

My eyes widened fractionally, but she caught it. I opened my mouth to rebuke her but she cut me off. “It’s all right,” she said quickly, “nobody else knows.” 

Maybe she was a witch, after all. 

“But how …?” My breathing had sped up and I began to sweat. 

“Look Claire, I like ye. I like the way ye think and how ye act upon it. Ye’re strong, wi’ progressive mind, something many lack. I think ye’ll find in days to come that will be your greatest asset. Dinna forget that.” She squeezed my hands and rose to leave. Far too distressed to question her further, I watched in panic as she made her way out of the garden, towards town. I knew with no uncertainty, that this would not be our last meeting. 

__________________________________________________________________

The Gathering began the following day and it was everything Rupert and Angus said it would be. Still quite shaken after speaking with Geillis, I tried to push her to the very back of my mind. I needed to concentrate, and I needed to make sure Dougal was as inebriated as possible. The grand hall was filling up with people all dressed their best, all wearing the Mackenzie tartan. I could imagine how I looked in comparison. Hair piled on my head, white linen shirt tucked into slightly less ratty pants. Mrs. Fitz had found them for me after she grudgingly accepted that I would not be wearing a dress. She tied a scrap of the tartan around my head in a knot, like a bandanna. I was standing in the back of the room. Bagpipes were playing and men were lining up in front of Colum, Dougal standing proudly in front.

I heard a commotion behind me and a very angry exchange in that strange, guttural speech which I learned was called Gaelic. Angus pushed Jamie through the doorway to stand in the back of the line. He looked miserable. I saw him remove the brooch from his plaid and slip it into his sporran. His fingers tapped steadily against his thigh, and he rocked back and forth on his feet. I laid a hand on his arm. 

“Jamie, are you quite all right?” I asked him quietly. 

He exhaled strongly through his nose. “No. I am being forced into a verra difficult position ye see.” 

“Difficult? In what way? You’re the Laird’s nephew!” 

He smiled ruefully. “That’s just it aye? If I swear loyalty to Colum they shall think I am after the lairdship, which Dougal clearly wants and Colum’s young son Hamish is supposed to inherit. I should think I will be met with much ill will and hostility. On the other hand, if I do not swear loyalty, who knows what they will do to me!” 

“And you don’t want to give yourself to Colum, because of your true clan. I see.” 

We had moved too far up to continue the conversation, and Jamie was getting more and more apprehensive. When he reached Colum, he stood up straight and squared his shoulders. 

“Colum MacKenzie, I come to you as kinsman and as ally. I give ye no vow, for my oath is pledged to the name that I bear.” Chatter went through crowd, but he ignored it and went on. “But I give ye freely the things that I have; my help and my goodwill, wherever ye should find need of them. I give ye my obedience, as kinsman and as laird, and I hold myself bound by your word, so long as my feet rest on the lands of clan MacKenzie.”

Colum spoke, addressing Jamie as well as the assemby. “We are honored by your offer of friendship, we accept ye as an ally of this clan.” He held out the glass of wine, and I let out a long breath. 

__________________________________________________________________

With all of the oaths taken, the music and dancing commenced. It went on for hours. I sat there through a good deal of it, politely refusing any offers of drink and food. I wanted the Mackenzies, particularly Colum and Dougal, to see that I had been present. After a while however, I felt that I needed to leave. I felt as if I was watching from the outside in. Everyone was laughing and telling stories. It reminded me too much of something I never had, and never will have. I sat alone at one of the long tables, propping my head up with one hand and absently drawing circles in the wood with the other. I heaved a big sigh. I had been desperately trying to think of a way to get the ring back before the Gathering was over. However, Dougal had been surrounded by people all night, and now I couldn’t see him at all. Figuring nobody would miss me if I went up to bed, I got up and sadly made to leave. Jamie was trying to push his way towards me through the crowd but I kept going. I trudged wearily through the dark hallways, trying to come up with a solid plan. I had nothing to report to Colum concerning any rebellious behavior by Dougal, and Dougal still didn’t trust me one bit. Giving up, the best thing right now was a long sleep. I rounded a corner and smacked into a wall, a wall that spewed profanity and reeked of alcohol. 

“Watch where you’re going!” I said angrily, completely not in the mood to deal with drunken Scotsmen. 

“I could say the same to you, lass.” 

I gasped; it was Dougal. “Enjoying the celebration are ye?” He continued. He walked in a circle around me, staggering as he went. His eyes were unfocused. I silently thanked whatever greater being was listening because this could not have been more perfect. He would remember nothing come morning, and I would be long gone. I scanned for the ring; it was not around his neck. I presumed it was in his sporran, hidden beneath layers of plaid. Still I said nothing, but let him talk. 

“Ye ken lassies like yerself arena supposed to me wearin’ pants like these.” 

I bristled, but still said nothing. 

“However I feel inclined to let it slide given how bonny yer arse looks.” _Typical vile man._ When he realized that I was not going to run away, I saw his confidence increase further. I was now trapped between Dougal and the wall. He lowered his head and breathed in my scent. His hands went to my hair and it took everything I had not to knock him out. I slowly and carefully let my hands sneak into the folds of plaid in search of the sporran and I felt him smile against my neck. My fingers found the pouch and I lifted the flap. I brushed against cool metal … 

The sound of running footsteps down the hall. They were getting closer. Dougal guiltily jerked away from me; he had a wife after all. I made a wild grab but my prize was now out of reach. 

“Jamie?” Laoghaire’s high pitched voice echoed through the corridor. 

Dougal groaned, “He isna here, lass.” He turned to me with a smoldering look. “Goodnight to ye, Miss Claire.” The tone and the smirk were unmistakable: he was intending to recommence this encounter at earliest convenience. He began to stagger back towards the stairs, clutching the wall for support. 

I glared at Laoghaire. “What are you doing here?”

She stupidly twirled her hair. “I was just lookin’ for Jamie, I saw him follow ye out of the grand hall and … well … he always seems to be around ye, so …” 

“Well you thought wrong, didn’t you?” I said harshly. “Just because you found me does _not_ imply that Jamie is anywhere nearby.” 

“Well he’s always lookin’ at ye!” She half shouted back at me. “And he always wants to be around ye! Why are ye tryin’ to steal him away from me? He doesna want me half as much as he wants you!” 

“Oh no? Why would Jamie want me? _Look_ at me!” I spat back at her. Initially I had been angry with her for foiling my ring heist, but now all this talk about Jamie was fueling my anger even more. I didn’t know why it affected me like it did, why it created foreign feelings inside me. I wanted them to stop. Now. 

I tried with great effort to calm my voice. “Now that we have established that I am quite alone, I am going to bed. You may run along now and find Jamie and have him all to yourself. I. Don’t. Care.” Without waiting for an answer, I turned on my heel and stalked off around the corner. 

__________________________________________________________________

That night, Geillis Duncan paced her attic, where all sorts of herbs hung from the ceiling. Dozens of old book lined the shelves, and all sorts of differently shaped bottles sat on her table. Her long, flame colored hair swung gently from side to side. She had planted the seeds in Claire Fraser’s brain. She and the red fox would be key in the next Rising. She stopped in front of the mirror and fingered the small circular mark on her upper arm.


	5. Just a Lass

_Present Day_

In the days following the Gathering, Dougal had organized a group of men, (and me) into a small party to collect the yearly rent owed by the clan. It was evident to me that Dougal enjoyed going on these escapades away from Castle Leoch, and out of reach of his brother. I rather thought he saw himself as the commander of some small, ragtag, eclectic group of soldiers. And so, marching around the Highlands in his wake demanding that some poor family give us their last goat became a bit tiresome after a while. I tried not to think about the unspoken but obvious reason for my presence: Dougal wished to have me near at all times. I had lost all drive after being seconds away from stealing my ring back, only to be interrupted by Laoghaire. My current plan was pathetic to say the least. I had basically elected to play the waiting game, bide my time and do whatever Dougal said whilst giving him no reason for further suspicion. It was difficult, and my patience was wearing thin. But at the same time I reluctantly decided that I was happy to have their company, however soon I might be saying goodbye. Rupert and Angus had taken to teasing me daily, like irksome older brothers. 

If the last few months had shown me anything, it was that the English had taken advantage of the Highlanders and had done much to contribute to the widespread poverty we had encountered. The inhabitants of Castle Leoch were living in a bubble. It was saddening, to see these people offering us their last bits of food when we were passing through for the night. Many of the towns were so small they couldn’t even house a tavern. They were more like small collections of houses. Dougal seethed whenever the English were mentioned, and my ears always pricked forward in interest. Colum had said he would act upon his emotions, and I was impatiently wondering why he hadn’t. But he didn’t keep me waiting much longer. 

__________________________________________________________________

The line in front of Ned Gowan was shortening now as we prepared to spend another night sleeping under the stars in another tiny town. I sat in the wagon munching some bread while Jamie leaned against the side, trying to balance his dirk in his hand. I yawned loudly and he chuckled. 

“Tired are ye, Sassench?” 

I scoffed, “It’s not like you can sleep soundly on the ground either! I’d kill to sleep in a bed tonight.” 

“Aye, there’s a knot or two in my neck to be sure.” He rubbed the back of his neck and winced. 

I hesitated, then decided to voice my worries. “But I feel exposed out here. Don’t you? I feel as though I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, that soldiers will show up any second.” I was alluding of course to the fact that we were both fugitives, something I didn’t care to say outright. Jamie was still the only one who knew this about me, and part of me wished he’d ask why. He’d laid a lot of himself bare to me that day when we first arrived at Leoch. I felt like I needed him to know, but fear and anxiety continuously kept me from following through. 

He caught the dirk as it began to topple over. “I suppose that’s always a worry but to me this is far better than bein’ trapped in that gloomy castle. Besides, I prefer being outside, tending horses. It reminds me more of … home.” 

“You miss your sister, and your parents?” 

He smiled sadly. “Only my sister, Mam and Da have passed on. But did ye ken,” he said, steering the conversation away from his family, “that I am the Laird there?” 

“Just like Colum?” I asked incredulously. 

“Weel, no quite like Colum, he’s a clan chief after all. I mean Laird of my estate and the land surrounding it. I have my own tenants and crops. … Or at least I should.” His eyebrows drew together in a look of longing. Being unable to claim your rightful place at your ancestral home sounded heartbreaking. He couldn’t even claim his rightful clan name. At Leoch, many had been calling him by ‘MacTavish’, which I suspected was an alias. 

From what I came to know of Jamie, what he had just described to me was his calling. I had no doubts that he would stop at nothing to adequately provide for his tenants and his family. But by staying away as a wanted man, he believed he was protecting them. 

Our exchange was interrupted by shouting and cheering over at the base of the hill. Many of the villagers had gathered in a circle. The unmistakable clash of swords filled the air and I felt my face light up. The words had not even left my mouth before Jamie said, “I’m right behind ye, Sassenach.” 

There were two teenaged boys sparring in the middle of the circle. It was all in good fun for the moment, each boy showcasing his skills with respective friends and relatives encouraging them. In reality they were training. Training to protect their families, their way of life. They would be soldiers one day. I looked at Jamie, and I knew that beneath his kind exterior there was a lethal warrior. I wondered if I’d ever see that side of him. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to. 

The cheering rose to a crescendo as one of the boys fell backward losing his sword, the match clearly won. They shook hands and clapped each other on the back before making their way back into the circle. Another man sauntered to the center and spread his hands wide. He looked to be a few years older than Jamie, and certainly quite cocky. He had shoulder length sandy blonde hair, no beard, and a tattered kilt. He pulled his impressive sword out of the holster and began to swing it about in an extravagant fashion. I rolled my eyes. 

“Which of ye shall be my challenger eh?” He scanned the crowd in search of a worthy opponent. 

A long silence ensued.

“… I will.”

Every single head turned immediately and simultaneously in my direction. I waved awkwardly as I heard Jamie inhale sharply to my left. I crossed my arms. 

The man just laughed. “”Tis a very funny joke there, lass. What’s your name?” 

“My name is Claire. My apologies, does it look like I am joking? Perhaps I should make an effort to be more clear or perhaps you should make an effort to be able to recognize an actual joke.” I unsheathed my weapon. A murmur went through the crowd and some of the women gasped. 

He looked taken aback for a moment and then seemed to regain his composure. “Come now lass, why don’t we be a bit more polite?” 

“I am not interested in being polite.” I said defiantly. 

He looked helplessly at Jamie, who simply shrugged. “You better fight her man, and dinna ask any questions.” 

I stepped forward and the crowd parted like the Red Sea. The man scoffed and tried again, “ye canna seriously be allowing her to do this?” 

Jamie shrugged again. “I canna tell her what to do.” I heard a few muffled gasps escape the crowd. The man approached us, trying to be discreet. I had stuck my sword into the ground and was casually leaning on the hilt, arms crossed. 

“Ye must get yer wife under control!” He said to Jamie, voice barely over a whisper. 

The red cheeks and hilariously flabbergasted look that subsequently adorned Jamie’s face prevented him from replying before I laughed loudly. 

“Is that what the issue is? Allow me to be the first to inform you that I do not have a husband and I never will. Will you fight me or not?” I began to step back towards the center of the circle, causing him to back up. “Or are you fearful of losing?”

At that, he regained his previous haughty attitude. “Fearful of losing? You’re only a lass.” 

My sword shone in the setting sun. 

“Then this should be easy for you.” I would be brutal. 

Recently, I had attempted to stop making assumptions and judgements of those whom I has just met. Jamie came to mind concerning this resolution, and perhaps Rupert, Angus and Murtagh as well. As much as I tried to fight it, numerous unwelcome presumptions materialized in my mind all the same. It was some solace however, that this time I was absolutely right. My opponent whose name I later learned was Rodrick, was entirely reliant on his size and strength, and nothing else. As expected, he came lunging at me with his sword up in the air. I sidestepped him neatly and ducked under his arm. He whirled around stupidly, as if in amazement that I was now behind him. He tried again. 

“Why don’t try using the weapon instead of throwing yourself bodily in my direction?” A few laughs rose from the crowd. “Allow me get this started so that we might finish sometime tonight.” 

I was back in the courtyard of Uncle Lamb’s house, a clumsy adolescent. The dummy I was practicing on had taken quite a beating. I was dripping sweat and covered in dust while the other ladies my age were sitting in a drawing room somewhere sipping tea and sharing the latest gossip.

I stepped forward with a thrust. He clumsily parried it, and imitated my attack. After that, the fight picked up some momentum. He had begun to wildly swing the sword in all directions. Sidestepping and crisscrossing my feet like a dance, I avoided and blocked every swing. I noted with satisfaction that he was growing tired. Several more clashes rang out, the surrounding crowd was leaning forward in excitement. I felt sweat rolling down my forehead and back. Chest heaving, I let out heavy, punctuated breaths as we sized each other up once more. Knees bent, feet apart, I waited. Waited for him to let down his guard for a fraction of a second. I expected one more blind, brutish lunge, for he must realize that it was nearing an end. When he began to barrel toward me, I swept my foot in a wide arc. His feet flew out from under him. The ground shook as all the momentum directed at me fell victim to gravity. He fell hard on his knees, then his elbows. While he was preoccupied with falling, the toe of my boot connected hard with the sword hilt and sent it flying. He now had no weapon and was staring up at the point of my own sword as it hovered inches from his face. 

“The Sassenach won!” Someone shouted. With that, the crowd erupted into shouts and applause. I straightened up and extended a hand to Rodrick. Distractedly helping him to his feet, I watched as Jamie discussed the match with a few of the villagers. He waved his arms excitedly, a big smile on his face. 

“I didna teach her anything, man.” He was saying proudly. “Have ye no’ ever seen a swordsman as agile as Claire?” 

Dusk was setting in quickly. The villagers had begun to retreat to their homes for supper. A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. 

“I must say I didna expect to be beaten by a woman today, much less an English woman.” Rodrick said. There were other men craning their necks behind him.

“Well, life is full of surprises, isn’t it?” I answered sarcastically, turning to walk away. 

“Ye ken ye’ve got a wise mouth and ye’ve overstepped yer boundaries there, _lass_. One day ye’re going to anger the wrong person, that mouth and those trousers are going to get ye into a situation that ye canna make it out of.” 

I scoffed. “Is that a threat?” 

“It just isna normal.” One of the men spoke up. 

“What can I say? I’m an unusual lady.” 

“How does it feel? That no one takes ye seriously? That half o’ this village is _laughing_ at ye.” Rodrick tried to put sting into his words. It was working. 

“I should hope I have gained myself some respect after defeating you.” I retorted. 

“Oh aye, one small victory wilna do ye any good. Ye’d best stop pretending to be man. Just because ye dress the part and know a little sword play doesna change a thing.” Some laughter from behind him. My cheeks burned. “Come on lads, let’s let the lassie sort out her identity crisis on her own.” They left me there, fists clenched and shaking. 

“… Sassenach,” 

I whirled around and there he was. Jamie had heard the whole thing. I pushed past him and sprinted up the hill. I paced in tight circles at the crest of the hill. The anger boiling up found its release when my fist connected with a tree trunk. “_Fucking_ bastard!” The tree received no mercy and soon my hands were covered in blood. I sat heavily down on a rock to catch my breath. 

“I know you’re there,” I said without turning around. Jamie chuckled as he stepped out of the trees and sat beside me. 

“I had a feeling ye did,” he said. “Though I figured I’d let ye finish teaching that tree a lesson.” 

I flexed my fingers painfully. “I think it taught me a lesson instead.” 

“I understand though, Sassenach. When ye’re in a blind fury, ye hardly even ken what ye’re doin’. I bet it didna even hurt while ye were throwin’ those punches.” He brought a handkerchief out of his sporran and began to swab the blood off. 

“That’s exactly right. How did you know?” I winced as he brushed over a particularly deep cut. 

He chuckled again. “Because I do the same thing. I dinna just mean punching trees.” 

I had never seen Jamie as angry as he was describing, but it wouldn’t be long before I would. 

“You know I act as though their words don’t affect me, but I wish it was Rodrick I was punching instead.” 

“Ah but the fact that ye didn’t makes ye stronger than he’ll ever be.” Jamie replied. 

“I know what I am. I don’t claim to be anything I’m not.” I suddenly felt as though I had to justify myself. But here sat the one person who didn’t need to hear it.

He put the bloody cloth down. “Of course not, Sassenach. I ken ye’re no man. But ye are the strangest, most wonderful woman I have ever met.” 

Now I turned and looked into his eyes. “Thank you, Jamie. That means a lot.” I was silent for a few moments. “But why?” 

“Why?” He sounded startled. “Why what?” 

“Why does it not offend you? I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be like everyone else … but you’re not.”

He leaned back on his elbows, the sinking sun creating shadows on his face. “Well, because ye’re strong, and I can only imagine how much shite ye get for this. But ye still stay true to yerself.” 

I laughed, “that is a massive understatement.” 

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the moon rise. My question to Jamie was still on my mind. _Why?_ He had given his answer, and I knew he meant every word. But I couldn’t help but feel that he still kept things hidden. He may be hiding it verbally, but he’s hopeless if he thinks nobody can notice the way he lit up during that fight. Or when he stares at me when he thinks I don’t notice. Or even in that moment when he was so blissful and happy sharing this time with me, taking joy in the fact that he made me feel better. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, and the look of complete contentment on his face. 

_Oh Jamie._

He’ll be crushed when I leave. 

__________________________________________________________________

My realization about Jamie had unsettled me. I had therefore decided to distance myself from him a bit. He was my friend and he was much too good to me; he didn’t deserve the grief he was sure to feel when I left. This was the only way. 

Angus yawned loudly as we sleepily filed out of the village the next morning. “Look alive will ye?” Dougal said. “If ye want to make it to Nairn by this evening ye must stay awake! And then ye can stuff yer face and sleep in a nice warm bed aye?” 

“I canna remember the last town big enough for a tavern.” Murtagh responded. 

“Aye well we shall be staying in this town for longer this time,” Dougal continued. “’Tis a good deal bigger than what we’ve seen on this excursion. More people who owe the Mackenzie their rent.” 

The prospect of resting for a couple of days was exciting. I would use this time to renew my efforts to steal the ring and escape. An uneasy thought made my stomach flip. _What if Dougal did not even have the ring?_ But somehow, I knew he had it. He would need it if he wanted to taunt or threaten me, after all. The men fell into conversation while I rode alone. 

“Good morning Sassenach,” Jamie said cheerfully. 

I had been staring into space and his greeting made me jump in the saddle. He laughed, and I sadly fought the urge to laugh along with him. 

“Good morning.” I responded. I said nothing more, but gave him a small smile. This was going to be difficult, considering I didn’t want him thinking that he did anything wrong. 

He breathed deeply, evidently enjoying the morning air. “Excited?” He asked. I looked at him quizzically. 

“We finally get to sleep in a bed!” His eyes immediately widened. “I - I mean separate beds of course, I didna mean …” He flailed for a few seconds and finished with what must have been a Gaelic curse. 

“It’s okay Jamie, I know what you meant.” I looked away, hoping it would make this easier. 

“Is something wrong, Sassenach?” The concern in his voice was unmistakable. 

“I - no. I’m just not feeling very good this morning.” I said shortly, turning to face him again. His eyebrows had knit together and I wasn’t sure if he knew something else was amiss. He probably did, damn him.

The rest of the day involved me riding alone. Dougal was in the lead. Angus and Rupert were laughing behind him. Jamie rode ahead of me, not joining in the antics. All of a sudden, my world felt just as it did when Uncle Lamb died, and just like it did when I walked into castle Leoch. I was alone, and I was severing the only meaningful connection I had made since my life fell apart. I suppose I was preparing myself for my departure as well as Jamie. 

A chilly rain began to fall as we trudged into the larger town late that night. I hoped the tavern had soup. I flexed my hands, wincing as the movement stretched the wounds on my knuckles. There was blood caked onto the bandages. It has turned a dark brown, like all old blood stains do. It felt like such a long time ago when Jamie had tenderly cleaned and wrapped them, back in the other brief life I was trying to leave behind. 

The tavern was full of people, more men than women, some of which stared. But many were too engrossed in food or drink to notice me, and I was thankful. Many were wearing kilts but all had some type of clan tartan on his person. There was cozy yellow light coming from a grand hearth and several candles, either placed upon a table or in a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Large cushioned armchairs surrounded the hearth on the right side. Straight ahead, a flight of stairs ascended into darkness. To the left, there was a large bar at which sat several patrons and a cluster of tables and booths. There was a low din of conversation, the nonsensical noise of dozens of voices at once. Someone played a fiddle in the corner. I was warm now. 

I settled myself into a corner and leaned back in the chair. A mug of ale was pressed into my hand. I lifted my head and Dougal was standing over me. “I thought ye could use a drink.” He smiled at me, but not in his usual menacing way. He seemed excited about something, and he couldn’t keep still. He went about making sure everybody who lacked a drink was now holding one. Over near the bar I saw Jamie down his ale in one gulp, slam the mug down and rub his hands hard over his face. He looked tired, and very tense. 

Ned Gowan had started to take out the ledgers to start collecting rent, but Dougal stopped him. He assured him we would have ample time to recover the payments, just not tonight. 

All of a sudden heads went up, focusing on some spectacle unfolding in the center of the room. Dougal had strode to the forefront, kilt swishing and shoulders squared. With no idea what madness or nonsense he was going to insight, I shrank back in the chair, content to be a fly on the wall. 

Then the most passionate, incomprehensible speech flew from his lips. His arms waved animatedly through the air, sweat stood out on his forehead, his voice even cracked. Head cocked to the side, I sat engrossed. It felt like watching a performance. The only one not watching Dougal was Jamie. His back was facing his uncle and I could practically feel the tension in his shoulders from across the room. We had not spoken all day. 

I was pulled back into the moment when Dougal suddenly switched to English. 

“…And _this_ is what they do!” His eyes were molten and his smile was made for war. He had taken two large fistfuls of Jamie’s shirt, and split it right down the middle. The shirt now hung jaggedly from his shoulders. The shiny surfaces of the healed welts shown in the firelight. There were several gasps, one woman sobbed into her husband’s neck. Jamie’s head was bowed and his eyes were shut tight. He looked as though he would rather be getting a third flogging. I thought back to the day he showed me the scars. I was now more disgusted on Jamie’s behalf than I was regarding anything Dougal had done to me. He was using his nephew as propaganda. Murtagh had his face in his hands.

“They are _merciless._ Flogged this boy to within an inch of his life!” He pushed the shirt all the way off; Jamie’s hands curled into fists. “Sometimes, scars have a lot less to do with where ye’ve been, and a lot more to do with where ye’re going.” He produced his cap from within the folds of his plaid and plopped it on the nearest table. He tossed in a coin. “For King James, and for Scotland!” He roared. A massive cheer went up and soon he was swarmed with people trying to give him money. Jamie rose, but Dougal grabbed him by the shoulders and plunked him back down onto the stool. He would have to stay like that until Dougal was finished collecting donations, then. 

From within my haze of shock, I wondered idly what Colum would think of this little rally … and then my eyes snapped open. 

_“Well, if ye are not a spy, as ye say, I suppose I am askin’ ye to try yer skill at it.”_

This is exactly what Colum meant. I would have bet my life that he had no idea what his brother was up to, much less approve of it. Dougal was raising money for an army, and I was going to be the one to tell Colum. Seeing finally that I am no English spy, he would summon his brother up to his quarters, and Dougal would kneel before the crippled man to whom he had sworn loyalty and obedience. Colum would then order Dougal to return to me the last remnant of my old life, the last piece of evidence that I did in fact have a family. Then I would be free of the brute forever. 

Jamie sat there steaming until the tap room was mostly empty, save for a few drunks and the barman. I don’t even know why I had stayed to watch this. Rupert and Angus had stumbled up to bed, and Murtaugh left a long time before that. The last Jacobite dropped his coin into Dougal’s hand and in the same instant Jamie rose and snatched his shirt fiercely off the floor. His eyes were wild and he didn’t even look at Dougal as he turned toward the back exit. 

“Lad.” Dougal called to him. 

He paused halfway out the door without looking back.

“I hope ye brought another shirt!” 

The door slammed so hard it rattled the bottles on the shelves behind the bar.


	6. The Wonders of Whisky

Rising from the chair, I froze halfway trying to decide if I should go after Jamie. Dougal had suddenly became aware of my presence once again, as if coming down from an intoxicated state. I suppose he was. 

He smiled. It was not a nice smile. 

“You look very pleased with yourself.” 

“Pleased? Ye should come back and see me when Scotland and the Bonny Prince are victorious.” 

I crossed my arms. “Forgive me, but hasn’t there already been two failed Jacobite risings?” 

That remark dampened his euphoria. “Watch it lass, I expect ye to remain civil. Ye’re only here because I still dinna ken what yer game is. Ye ken nothing of those risings and what Scotland has been through.” 

“I am being perfectly fucking civil. You on the other hand, are a complete barbarian. I take it that Jamie is only here to be used as a prop?” I gestured toward the door through which Jamie had just left.

He let out a long breath. “Please try to understand. ’Tis nothing against the lad. He just happens to be the owner of a verra strong example of English brutality and ruthlessness. He swore loyalty.” 

“He did no such thing and you know it. I was frankly shocked he sat there for the past hour and let you do that. Good night.” Before he could say anything else I swept up my half-full mug of ale and my meat pie and stomped up the stairs. 

I awoke an hour or two later in a sweat and a coating of pie crumbs. Sighing, I draped my arm over my face. The dream was quite unsettling. Dougal was the one flogging Jamie and once again, I was sitting there watching with a mug of ale. Jamie had looked pleadingly into my eyes. The dreams were worsening since I had been taken by the Scots, but they had started when Uncle Lamb died. I let out a shaky breath and climbed out of bed. 

There was a figure in the back alley of the tavern below. My stomach flipped when I realized it was Jamie. His familiar form was hunched over as he sat on a wooden bench. His knuckles were a mess of blood, though he made no move to staunch the flow. It was rhythmically dripping onto the ground in front of him. It ran between the cracks in the stone. I tore myself away from the window and tried, unsuccessfully, to go back to sleep. 

The next morning my head felt heavy; it hovered dangerously close to my bowl of porridge. What should have been the most sound sleep I’ve had in weeks was punctuated by horrible dreams of varying content, guilt for some reason, and other feelings I did not care to identify. I blinked heavily and parted my jaws in an enormous yawn. 

“Ye look like ye’ve been up all night,” Murtagh commented. 

“I suppose I had gotten used to sleeping on the ground.” I answered. Then I swung my head to look around the room. “Where is Jamie?” 

“Why?” Angus interjected, a large annoying smirk on his face. 

As much as I wanted to hit him, displaying hostility would only encourage it. I tried for nonchalance. “I just noticed that he isn’t here. That’s all.” I added a shrug for good measure. 

“The lad woke up hours ago, he’s spendin’ the day in the stables if I’m not mistaken.” Murtagh answered me, ignoring Angus. So Jamie wished to be left alone. 

That evening saw us all in the taproom once again. I had just finished supper when I noticed with dread that the tavern was much more crowded than it had been the previous night. Dougal was drawing a larger audience then, and word was spreading. Jamie was led in by his uncle. I imagined that the days he was flogged looked quite similar to this. 

Dougal then began the exact speech from the previous night, and hearing it a second time made it far less impressive and far less passionate. I wanted to spare myself the sight of Jamie’s anguish by spending the night in my room. But tonight, I was going to make sure he was okay. 

We had not spoken in two days. 

It took longer for the taproom to clear out this time. A young man with light brown hair was the last to drop his coin in. His cheeks were ruddy and covered in dense patches of freckles. Dougal bowed to him. _“Alba a ’toirt taing.”_

A confused expression momentarily crossed his face before he nodded and made his way to the front door. He passed the armchair in which I was sitting. 

“Save your money.” I said to him. 

He stopped. “He’s going to save Scotland.” I almost felt sorry for the innocent, deluded look in his eyes. 

“He _thinks_ he’s going to save Scotland.” I said, putting my legs up on the table. 

“Well, what’s he going to do with all that money?” He demanded.

I sighed. “What’s your name?” 

“Peter, Miss.” He hadn’t commented on my attire, but I could feel him staring at it. 

“Peter. What you just saw was a carefully rehearsed ploy in which that man exploited his nephew for money. Sure Dougal cares about Scotland and I imagine that he’s going to attempt to use that money to raise an army against England. But if you ask me, he’s a child in a grown man’s body. A couple pence is not going to help. Feed your family instead.” 

His eyebrows knit together. “I shall keep that in mind, Miss. You’re quite the cynic aren’t you?” 

I smiled insincerely. “Being a pessimist is wonderful. I am either always right or pleasantly surprised. Have a good evening sir.” 

After he had gone I dimly realized that he wore no tartan and spoke no Gaelic. My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Jamie attempting to shrug back into his destroyed shirt. Tonight was different than last night. He was not angry. He was defeated. The floor above us creaked as Dougal entered his room after having counted the night’s earnings. 

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Can I help?” 

He did not say anything, but nodded once. Permission granted, I took the two tattered ends of the shirt and tied them in a knot at his back. The scars shone in the candlelight. 

“At least now it won’t fall off.” I whispered. 

He still said nothing, and I realized that he was holding his breath. 

“I have - I have no idea how to sew.” I said stupidly and unnecessarily into his silence. 

His fingers drummed on the counter, I saw fresh scabs. His head turned slowly towards me. He gave the most infinitesimal smile, but it was the most I’ve seen in days. “I didna think ye would, Sassenach.” 

My breath came out in a laugh, and he continued. “Maybe I’ll teach ye one day.” 

I was still laughing, more out of some unexplained relief than from what he said. “No thank you!”

He pretended to be taken aback. “No thank you? All Scottish boys are taught to sew and knit ye ken.”

The barman approached and placed a glass of amber liquid in front of Jamie. I sat up straighter. “What is that?” 

He picked up the glass and swirled it around. The way the liquid caught the light was pleasing to look at, and just watching it made me feel warm. He took a sip and savored it before answering me. “It’s whisky, Sassenach. Ye’ve never had?” I could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was hoping I would say no. I shook my head, still staring at the glass. 

“Then I am honored to be the first that ye shall drink it with.” He waved the barman over and had him pour me a glass. “Leave the bottle, if ye please.” Jamie told him before he went into the kitchen. 

I held my own glass at eye level right in front of my face. He was intently watching me inspect my whisky. I sniffed it, and the scent was complex. It smelled like Scotland. After the first swallow, there was a small fire burning merrily in my belly, a warm trail down my throat, and several unidentifiable flavors commingling on my tongue. It was magnificent. 

Half an hour later, the bottle was almost empty, and the small fire had become a raging blaze. We had spent that time laughing hysterically and having a belching contest. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to get drunk, and I said as much as I reached to pour some more. 

Jamie’s eyes widened. They were becoming a bit glassy and bloodshot. “Sassenach I fear ye may be drinkin’ me under the table and I am ashamed.” 

I snorted. “Please, I could drink any one of you under this whole tavern.” 

That sent him into a small fit of laughter. “Would ye like to test yer theory on the lads, then?” 

My reply came without thinking. “Actually, no. I find I can only handle them in small doses. I’m quite enjoying this sad little drinking party and all two of its current members.” 

He smiled. “Me too.” After a short pause, he tentatively reached out his hand. “Ye have something in your hair.” His speech slurred faintly. “Um. Do ye want me to get it out?” 

I shrugged. “If you think it will help my tangled mess look more presentable.” 

Permission granted, his hand continued reverently up to the top of my head. 

_“Coltach ris an uisge ann an allt, mo nighean donn.” _

He carefully extracted some piece of lint, and lowered his eyes to my face. I watched as he switched his gaze between me and the glass of whisky I had suspended near my lips. Suddenly, Jamie MacTavish abruptly reminded me why I had not spoken to him for two days.

“It looks just like yer eyes …” He breathed. 

I lowered the cup with a sharp exhale. He was beet red, and that’s when I realized he was in over his head. It didn’t matter now if I ignored him completely. He would still be torn apart when I left no matter what. I silently cursed myself for not leaving sooner.

Being in the company of these Scots was the longest I had been in anyone’s company since I lived with my uncle. Before this, I had never had time to forge any kind of profound connection. I had kept interactions and acquaintances short and unattached. It was safer for me that way. 

Jamie sat there sweating now, and gazing at me expectantly clearly hoping that his fuck up would reward him. I shuddered to think what sorts of sober thoughts would make it out of my drunken mouth. 

Instinct took over and an irrational urge to make him angry at me manifested itself. If I had known all that was going to unfold after, I would have gone to bed right then and there. I suppose I thought that angering him on purpose would make it easier for him when I was gone. If he hated me, he’d be glad to see me go. 

I attempted to look him straight in the eye, although at this point my vision was beginning to spin slightly. “Why do you let Dougal do that to you?” 

He stiffened. “I could ask you the same.” He said lowly. 

I clenched my teeth together. “It isn’t the same and you know it. He’ll put your back on display every night!” 

“Not the same?” He chuckled humorlessly. “Dougal is controlling and manipulating both of us.” 

“Excuse me but nobody can control me.” It sounded ridiculous and delusional on its way out of my mouth. “You on the other hand, can take your body back anytime you like!” 

“Then ye prove ye ken nothing of clan politics!” He half shouted back at me. “As for you, ye can leave anytime ye like as well. Ye can leave and keep running, I ken how badly ye want to.” His burr was growing quite broad, almost to the point where I had to strain to understand him. 

“I can’t.” I whispered. “You’ve got me all figured out don’t you?” 

“And I canna leave either.” He suddenly had the same vulnerable and tortured expression as the say he showed me his back.

“But the scars … He’ll bring you a constant reminder each night if he keeps this up. I know you hate the pity it brings down upon you.” I suppose I had been trying to get him to oppose his uncle because I was powerless to do it for myself. Perhaps I enjoyed the fact that I was only one who had seen them. 

“The scars are there and they always will be, ’tis hard to forget the past when it’s written all over your body.” 

Admittedly, I had drunk much as I did that night for two reasons. The first was to be a bit of a show-off, and the second was because I truly loved the whisky. There came a moment when I entered a completely different plane: that of the hopelessly intoxicated. It happened in an instant, and the world tilted dangerously. But the spinning was accompanied by that strange sentimental, affectionate feeling that only alcohol can bring. I put my hand on his shoulder. 

“I have trouble forgetting the past too.” For weeks I had hovered between wanting to push Jamie away and wanting to keep him close, and I had chosen both within the past five minutes.

“I can help…” His voice was barely a whisper. My heart was a hammer in my chest. It drowned out the creaks and moans of the tavern. Jamie’s face drew closer to mine, his mouth hung open slightly and his eyes were focused intently on my lips. The world surrounding him kept spinning and it made my head throb painfully. If I kept my attention on him, everything was stable. He was the focal point. I involuntarily inched forward to close the gap. 

The front door banged open and raucous laughter accompanied it. A brief mixture of disappointment and relief came flooding as I nearly catapulted myself as far back as possible as quickly as possible. Rupert and Angus had returned, each with a girl in tow. 

Angus waved at us without taking notice of the fact that we were both red in the face, breathing heavily, and sinfully drunk. “Jamie! Ye should have come with us!” He called cheerfully. 

“I was otherwise engaged.” He answered stiffly, plucking at his tattered shirt between his thumb and forefinger. 

I stood listening to this exchange numbly trying to process the last thirty seconds. Eyes shut tight, the room revolved violently although I stood still, albeit swaying a bit. 

My eyes popped open with the realization that I was being addressed. “What?” 

“I said,” Rupert repeated, “are ye sober?” 

My face scrunched as I tried to put him into focus. “I am moderately functional.” 

He howled with laughter. “I’ll take that as a no!” 

As they thundered up the stairs Jamie had risen from the stool with an expectant expression. I twisted my fingers nervously. “I - I should follow their lead and head up to bed. I’m afraid I’m not going to feel very well at all come morning.” At this, I saw the line between his eyebrows deepen. 

“Thank you for introducing me to the wonders of whisky,” I added, trying to lighten the mood and bring back the platonic nature of our relationship. 

“Aye, Sassenach. Sleep well.” 

I staggered up the stairs, clutching the railing. Jamie had returned to his seat at the bar. I saw him push the whisky away. 

Laying on my back, I felt as though I was floating in water, being slowly pushed and pulled, but somewhat weightless as well. My mind too muddled to think, I passed out no thanks to the waves of vertigo swirling around my head. 

I have always found that when all one wants to do is sleep, it the absolute last thing that one is able to do. I awoke painfully and peeked under the drapes. The sky had the faintest light to it, no longer dead of night but not quite dawn either. 

I shuffled over to the washbasin and chugged a glass of water. Hands braced on the edge of the basin, breathing deeply, all of my problems hit me at once. I angrily shoved hair out of my face attempted to regain some control in order to figure things out. 

Right then, first problem: my near kiss with Jamie. Before contemplating a solution, I gave myself a stinging chastisement. _What in the ever-living fuck were you thinking Claire?!_

Oh God, it was so bad. It was irreversible. I could not even recall how my face made it into such close proximity with his. I suppose it happened involuntarily. I could hear his heart pounding from where I sat. … Or was it mine? An irrational surge of anger overtook me. I wondered what could be going through Jamie’s head at the moment, I was almost certain that he was awake as well. Oh no. Would he try again? _Curse that whisky_, I thought, blaming the alcohol. And then it became clear. If alcohol got me into this, it would get me out.

__________________________________________________________________

Everybody must have been waiting for my arrival downstairs the following morning because it appeared they had bet both upon the time I would arise and upon how horrible I would look. 

Dougal and Ned were out collecting some of the rent, but Rupert and Angus sat in the taproom barely able to control their laughter. Murtagh was chuckling as well. Out of the corner of my vision I noticed Jamie staring intently at me. I did my best not to look at him, afraid one glance would acknowledge that I did in fact remember everything. 

“How are ye feeling today lass?” Angus clapped me on the shoulder as I took a seat. 

I glared at him. My eyes felt swollen and heavy. “Better than ever, thank you for asking.” 

“Ye ken,” he continued, “one of the best things to cure a hangover is alcohol, believe it or not.”

My stomach lurched. “Do you want me to vomit on you?”

After another round of laughter at my expense, everyone left to go about their day and I was finally allowed to eat my porridge in peace. Well, almost in peace. 

“I’d say I’m sorry they were makin’ fun of ye, Sassenach. But that’s what ye get for winning a whisky drinking contest against a Scotsman.” Jamie had moved to sit across from me. 

“So it was a contest? I hadn’t noticed.” 

He shifted uncomfortably. “Claire, I - how much do ye remember from last night, exactly?” 

Moment of truth, I hoped my acting skills were up to the task. “Well I must admit that it was a bit of a blur after the belching contest. I do believe you relieved my hair of a piece of lint but that is about it.” 

A flash of grief crossed his face, he blinked rapidly and exhaled strongly through his nose. But as quickly as it had come, he pushed it away. 

He tried once more, “are ye certain?” Oh God. He knew. But I was clinging to my story like a piece of driftwood in a storm. 

“I’m afraid so, but one thing I do remember is how much I loved that whisky.” 

The conversation continued cordially after that, but each of us knew the truth. I kept telling myself this would all make it easier for Jamie to forget me when I left. So in a way, I was thankful that he knew I was lying, that I refused to accept the truth about what happened. 

As for my leaving, I had partially solved that problem as well as I lay in my drunken stupor. I thought about Dougal and his obsession with financing an army for the Prince. I could either wait until we returned to Leoch to inform Colum of his brother’s latest financial venture and still run the risk of not being set free. 

Or, I could help Dougal along. Perhaps if I had some money to contribute to the cause, he would see fit to trust me. It was as Uncle Lamb used to say: “Throw money at the problem.” Perhaps Dougal would leave Jamie alone as well. However, this was where my plan was incomplete.

Should I sell something? Become a whore? Rob a bank? 

That evening, the perfect opportunity would present itself to me when Rupert and Angus urged us all to come with them to have a bit of fun. 

“If ye were wonderin’ where we were last night when we got back, now is yer chance to find out!” Angus was attempting to herd us out the door. 

Dougal and Ned declined. Murtagh, Jamie and I shrugged and followed them. We strolled down the central street, chatting amiably until we turned a corner and stopped in front of a seemingly dark inn. I raised an eyebrow. 

“Now I ken what yer’re thinkin’,” Rupert began. “But this isna just an inn. Claire I’d wager ye will be the one to enjoy this the most.” 

Rupert and Angus were both standing with their backs to the tall fence that separated the inn from the property next door. Sheets of paper adorned the fence, town bulletins, advertisements, someone’s lost cat. Then I saw it. Or rather, I saw me. I saw my own face and my own kinky mop peering back at me from a wanted poster pinned right next to Rupert’s head. My eyes widened but he took no notice and kept talking. I looked helplessly at Jamie and tried discretely to dart my eyes in the direction of the poster. His eyes narrowed as a puzzled look came across his face. It did not take him long to find it. 

“Oh Jesus,” he said softly.

Murtagh had seen it too, but he said nothing. Jamie’s fingers were tapping rapidly against his thigh. I could tell he was improvising a plan. They would sell me out to Dougal right away. 

“Ah I see why ye wanted to come back,” Jamie said suddenly and loudly. “This is where ye met those bonny lasses, isn’t it?” 

“Aye well that’s part of it!” Angus said. 

He stepped forward, put his arms around their shoulders, and steered them away from the fence toward the side entrance to the inn, where the only light seemed to be coming from. Angus had begun animatedly describing his meeting with the girl from the night before with Rupert chiming in occasionally. I all but lunged forward and ripped the poster down, shoving it immediately into my pocket. Murtagh stood watching me with his arms folded. I lowered my head guiltyly and followed the others.


	7. Ring Heist Renewed

“Care to explain, lass?” Murtagh asked the question before I could bolt after Jamie and the others, thus avoiding the ensuing conversation that I now knew to be inevitable. But he sounded matter of fact, not accusatory. He even seemed a bit curious. I turned to face him, hand nervously clenching the wanted poster in my pocket. I still had no idea what the charges were. Hopefully it only mentioned my most recent encounter with the redcoats.

“Does Jamie ken?” He tried for an easier question. 

“I … he … not all of it.” I glanced helplessly at the door to the inn Jamie and others had just gone through and took several steps backward.

“And I suppose those two wee fools ken nothing of it.” He said, referring to Rupert and Angus.

My hand clenched and unclenched rhythmically around the poster. The sound of crumpling paper drifted from my pocket before I replied. “What was your first guess?” 

He chuckled. “Well for one, I have never seen such a petrified look on yer face before.” 

“Well that’s because there is not much out there to petrify me.” 

“But this does.” 

I let out a long sigh. “Myself and the British government have been … at odds for some time.” 

“As cryptic as ever, Claire.” Murtagh stated. He didn’t need me to beg for secrecy with such a shameful, pleading look on my face. “Is that why ye’re so desperate to leave then?” 

I imagined Jamie telling his uncle of all the unsuccessful scheming I had done to recover my ring and be on my way. _“Ye can leave and keep running, I ken how badly ye want to.”_

“It isn’t safe for me here.” I told him the lie I kept telling myself, and he saw right through it. 

“Not safe? We brought ye to one of the most fortified castles in the Highlands. Ye’re surrounded by kindhearted and protective Scottish warriors, many of whom have grown quite fond of ye.” 

“I still feel like a captive rather than a guest.” I answered quietly. 

Murtaugh grunted. “Well I’ve said my piece, ’tis yer choice what ye do with it.” He started toward the door. 

“Wait!” I called after him. It felt silly to use my usual method and threaten a kick in the balls to ensure his silence. He demanded much more respect with his quiet demeanor and wisdom, and he was very important to Jamie. 

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “I wilna tell anyone lass.” 

Jamie was giving me a concerned look when we reached the door. I smiled briefly to assure everything was okay, and he relaxed. There was a man standing inside the doorway holding a lantern. He scrutinized us until he saw Rupert and Angus, and he grinned broadly. 

“Back again are ye? Who d’ye have here?” He asked, clapping Rupert on the shoulder. 

“Aye, we’ve brought some kinsmen. Dinna worry they wilna blow yer cover.” Rupert responded. 

“Pardon me if this seems like a foolish question,” I began as we descended a narrow staircase single file. “But is there some sort of illegal activity taking place here?” I had half-expected to walk in on some sort of orgy at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Will you two dolts just tell us where we’re going?” Murtagh piped up from behind me. 

“Ye canna just wait two more seconds?” Angus called back. 

There was a door at the bottom of the stairs with a warm light peeking out the bottom. From beyond I heard cheerful music and many voices. Rupert pushed the door open and we entered what looked like a basement turned taproom. There was a bar and tables with patrons. I blinked in confusion. 

“You … you made us walk all the way over here to sit in a nearly identical taproom?” I folded my arms and regarded Rupert and Angus. Behind me, Murtagh suppressed a laugh.

“It isna just a taproom!” Angus said. 

“Oh my apologies, ‘secret taproom’.” I stretched and started for the bar. “Well as long as we’re here, I’m going to have a drink, or three.” I said, hoping this would aid me in forgetting about the incriminating paper in my pocket and stop me from wondering if I’d ever be able to show my face in public again.

“Sassenach.” Jamie tapped my shoulder. “I think that’s why they brought ye here.” He inclined his head toward the far end of the room, where the most people were gathered. There was a sea of bodies in my way, and I still saw nothing while Jamie easily towered over almost everyone. Determined to make something of this night, I shouldered my way through the crowd ignoring the comments and side glances. I reached an opening in the crowd and my jaw promptly hit the floor. 

“Look at her face!” Rupert said gleefully. “I kent she’d love this!” He looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. 

A large ring had been constructed out of wood in the middle of the floor. The walls rose about four feet high, and they were stained with blood. Some spots were old and faded, others clearly fresh. Suddenly a man was thrown headfirst into said bloodstained wall, adding to the collection. There was a gash in his forehead. He wore no shirt and he was glistening in sweat and breathing hard. His opponent loomed over him. There was blood running down the other man’s neck from some unidentifiable wound, deep in his long brown hair. He was missing a tooth. He reared up and drove his knee into the fallen man’s nose, the force sending him colliding with the wall once again. Thunderous cheering accompanied this clear victory, and I couldn’t help but join in. 

Jumping up and down, I grabbed Jamie’s sleeve. “Do you know what this is?!” 

“Aye, it looks like a fighting ring.” And then he smiled down at me, my excitement infectious. “Somebody owes Rupert and Angus a thank you.” 

I shrugged. “There is a degree of difficulty in dealing with me, but I’m easy to please.” 

Our attention was brought back to the middle of the ring when another man stepped out dressed in clean cut breeches and a vest. He reached the winner, grasped his wrist, and thrust his arm up into the air. 

“Your winner!” He boomed. The declaration was met by more applause and cheers. He then pulled out a pouched stuffed with coin and handed it to the victor. 

Somebody emitted a drawn out groan next to me. “That’s the last time I put my money on Campbell.”

Preparations began to be made for the next fight. The loser was hauled off to see if something couldn’t be done about his broken nose and forehead laceration, and blood was being scrubbed off the walls and floor. I led Jamie over to a table where the others were seated. Both Rupert and Angus had large smiles plastered on their faces. I crossed my arms. 

“Before you say anything, I will give credit where credit is due.” 

An ale that I didn’t even know I wanted was pressed into my hand by Jamie as I climbed onto the stool. 

Angus was nodding smugly. “Weel our Claire is always attracted to violence is she no’? 

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, violence and danger.” 

Murtagh gave a Scottish grunt of agreement from the corner and met my eyes briefly. I swallowed, remembering the paper I harbored. Yes, violence and danger were quite exhilarating until finding your face on a poster dampens the mood. Before I knew it the ale was finished. 

The conversation was in danger of departing from harmless observations about my personality and entering dangerous territory. 

“So … a dark, unassuming inn under which is hiding a covert brawling competition.” The fighting of course supplied the danger and violence I always preferred to be immersed in, but the clandestine nature of the whole thing was the real reason that anyone with sense shouldn’t want anything to do with it. 

“And allow me to venture a guess,” I continued. “The English have had some objection, forcing it underground.” 

A common theme here seemed to be that the Scots enjoy their tests of strength and courage, especially against each other. I thought of the sword play back in the smaller village. It was yet another unique aspect of their way of life. 

Angus shifted uneasily. “Aye, Gavin told us the whole story.” He inclined his head toward the neatly dressed man in the center of the ring directing the clean up. “He’s the one who runs it.” 

Rupert picked up the story. “A couple of weeks ago Her Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons came through the town, and the captain had somethin’ to say about all this.” He made a sweeping motion with his arm. 

At the mention of the redcoats occupying the town I went rigid, my hand reflexively clutched the paper inside my pocket, now realizing why it had been hanging up in the first place. Jamie had stiffened simultaneously next to me and he swore in Gaelic. 

“The Eighth Dragoons. That’s under Randall’s command.” He said the name with difficulty, almost forcing it out. “How good to know he’s still terrorizing these people.” 

Murtagh tugged at his beard. “Ye havena seen Randall since …” 

“No.” Jamie answered softly. 

Murtagh did not need to finish that sentence for anybody present. Jamie had not seen the English captain since he had flayed open his back and made known his physical desire for the nineteen year old boy. 

“I expect that nothing illegal was going on and Randall did this because he can.” Jamie’s fist was clenching and unclenching at his side. I saw it. From his words, Black Jack Randall took an even more definite shape in my mind: a haughty man who takes advantage of his rank, but harbors fiendish and perverted tendencies apparent in the fact that he enjoys watching people suffer. Although at that point, I had no idea how sadistic he truly was. 

“Exactly, because Randall’s a bastard.” Angus said. “He called this barbaric. Gavin used to run the entire inn upstairs and when he refused to close the ring, Randall and company shut the inn down.”

“Sounds about right.” Said Murtagh. 

“Anyway,” Rupert continued, “the whole business has gotten Gavin a bit nervous, so he’s only opened the ring a few nights a week.” 

“Perhaps Randall and the English felt threatened by all the revenue this seems to generate for the people of this town.” I put in helpfully.

“Oh aye,” Angus answered, “But only if ye bet on the right fighter. I lost a hell of a lot o’ coin last night.” 

“_You_ did?” Rupert punched him in the shoulder. “Ye borrowed half of it from me!” 

While Rupert and Angus entered a full blown argument, I glanced over to Jamie. He had his chin in his hands and he was staring very intently at the floor. He had shut down for the night. I imagined he was not happy to hear that Randall was still at large. How could a man like that come to justice? 

__________________________________________________________________

By the next evening, I was still silently thanking Rupert and Angus for bringing me to Gavin’s ring. After sharing a glass of whisky with Jamie and Murtagh, I made a show of yawning repeatedly and excused myself for bed. I stood in front of the washstand and pulled the pockets of my breeches inside out. A couple granules of lint floated to the floor. These pockets will be empty no longer. But as per my plan, most of it would be going to Dougal and his preposterous Jacobite army fund. I stuffed the pockets back in, honestly struggling to remember the last time I had held any type of currency. I had consistent meals and now a bed to sleep in, but it did not change the fact I was still destitute. Dependent. Still a prisoner. 

I paced the room, my steps bouncing slightly with nervous energy. My life seemed to be directed by impulsive, often stupid decisions. Tonight would be no different. As I waited for the voices to die down indicating that the others had gone to bed, I couldn’t help but to somehow arrive at the conclusion that Jamie rarely slept well, if much at all. 

After another twenty or so minutes and a strong pull of the whisky I had snuck upstairs, heavy booted footsteps were making their way up the stairs and past my door. Swinging the cloak over my shoulders, my nails caught on the rough fabric. I had chewed them all the way down, and now the ends were jagged. Shifting my weight carefully, I moved slowly and tried not to make the old floors creak. After what felt like forever, I reached the stairs and grasped the railing. Gingerly, I tip-toed down the stairs one by one, my face screwing up at every infinitesimal sound I made. 

It felt ridiculous and childish. I suppose I was sneaking out for any one of the various, irrational reasons I had created. Perhaps I was not up to the task of dealing with Dougal if he caught me. I shuddered. Any one of them could catch me and assume I was on some espionage mission for the British. Conclusions would be jumped to, and Dougal would smugly fold his arms and say that he knew all along that I was helping the enemy. I reached the bottom and let out the long breath I was holding. 

Glancing back up, a soft flickering light shone around the edges of a closed door. I dimly wondered whose room it was and admitted that another reason for the tip-toeing was to spare Jamie of the knowledge that I was actively trying to leave. Then and there, I resolved to escape without anybody’s knowledge once I had my ring back. Yes, I would make my triumphant escape by cover of night guilt free with no awkward goodbyes, and in the morning after some initial confusion I will be nothing but a strange memory to them. 

I was still fixated on the door that could have been Rupert’s for all I knew and hadn’t realized that while gazing stupidly and open-mouthed up the stairs I was slowly walking backward. The arm of the chair at the nearest table had gotten caught inside the enormous sleeve of my borrowed cloak. The chair was already halfway to the floor before the high pitched whispers of profanity made it out of my mouth. I covered my face with both of my hands during the inevitable crash as if that would do any good. Peeking through my fingers, I saw the light under the door move. Someone had picked up a candle. After clumsily setting the chair upright I dashed out the door clutching the hood so that I remained concealed. 

The night air was chilly and I gave a hollow laugh to myself upon realizing that I was about to go somewhere all alone, no Scotsmen included. The night was still. It had to be after midnight. Since the previous evening I had been on the lookout for more posters with my face on them. I thankfully found no more, surmising that the first place I saw it must have been the town’s main bulletin. 

Faint laugher floated across the side alley of the inn as I approached. There was the unmistakable sound of a glass splintering on the floor and the laughter escalated. The same man was at the door, holding the lantern. I tried nonchalantly to remove my hood, but it had gotten caught on my hair. The man watched me struggle for several seconds before I had tied the hair back into a knot and causally leaned against the wall. 

“Busy tonight?” I asked him. 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Aye. Ye were here last night?” There was suspicion in his voice upon hearing my accent. As of late I wished I was able to speak differently. I once attempted a Scottish accent and it had sent Jamie into a uncontrollable fit of laughter. 

“I was. Rupert and Angus are friends of mine.” 

His expression softened and he let me enter. The voices got louder as I descended. The large room was once again bustling with activity. I scanned the crowd in search of Gavin when a familiar face materialized in front of me. It was the freckled young man from the tavern earlier in the week who seemed to have the utmost faith in Dougal Mackenzie. He was holding a small notebook. 

“We meet again, Miss …” He trailed off, waiting for me to supply my name. 

“Claire. Remind me again of yours.” 

“Peter.” He smoothed his hair with one hand; it had a greasy sheen to it.

“Oh yes, the man who gave his coin to support some Bonnie Prince who is off God knows where. And now you’re here, gambling it away.” It sounded quite strange as I said it. I supposed he was around my age, but the freckles made him look like a boy.

He laughed. “Gambling’s no’ such a bad thing, provided you win.” 

“I intend to.” I told him, starting to walk away to let him figure out what I meant. He didn’t get the hint, reappearing at my left shoulder like a fly. 

“May I buy you a drink?” 

“No thank you.” I kept walking. He plainly intended to keep this conversation going. 

“Tell me,” Peter continued, paying no heed to the fact that he was about to address his next question to my back. “Have you been here before?” 

“Just once.” 

“I see. The atmosphere is quite invigorating, but I can’t help but feel only a handful of people know about it.” 

“Well, yes.” I turned to face him. “It has been like this since the last time the soldiers came through. The English shut down this entire inn because they did not like the presence of the fighting ring for whatever reason. Perhaps because the Scots found a way to make money through a means that they couldn’t put another one of their bloody taxes on. Or perhaps because it gave them some way to enjoy life since the English barged into the Highlands. Your guess is as good as mine.” It appeared as though I had gone on a small rant. 

He smirked. “You sound like your Mackenzie friend.” If that was meant to provoke me, it worked, damn him. 

“I - no. No.” I gave a flustered laugh and held up a finger. “Listen. Do you see me trying to raise an army?” His mouth opened to answer but I kept going. “That man is holding me against my will on the basis of a ridiculous assumption that he cannot prove. Furthermore, if you approach any single person in this room right now, they will share a similar sentiment concerning the English.” 

He blinked, evidently becoming more fascinated by the second. A clear indication that I have shared way too much information with a total stranger. “You’re his prisoner?” 

I groaned. “Goodnight Peter. Good luck to whomever you bet on.” 

He bowed. “Goodnight then, Mistress Claire. Perhaps I’ll see you again down here.” 

I had finally located Gavin standing in a doorway towards the back of the room, next to the bar. I cast a look back at Peter. He was seated alone at a table scribbling furiously in the notebook. 

Gavin was directing people who wanted to place their bets; he didn’t turn his head as I approached. 

“Good evening to ye, sir.” He said, tying off a small coin pouch. 

“Good evening, and I’m not a sir.” I was about to enjoy his subsequent reaction. 

He turned, and didn’t seem too surprised. “Well of course not lass, forgive me. Yer clothing had me mistaken out ‘o the corner of my eye.” 

I tilted my head to the side and got the feeling that he was almost expecting me. 

“So where are those two dolts tonight eh?” He continued; I presumed he was talking about Rupert and Angus. 

“I - They’re … asleep.” I said lamely, after much too long of a pause. There was no need to explain to him why I was here in secret when I could barely explain it to myself. 

He extended his hand then. “Ye must be Claire.” 

“So you must have heard all about me.” _Wonderful._

“Aye, and I kent ye’d be back so I could meet ye! Never met a lass here for the fight.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “All the ladies who come here dinna care a lick for it. They come with their husbands and gossip all night long.” 

I followed his eyes a small group of women seated in one of the booths along the wall. Clearly whispering about something (me), there was absolutely nothing subtle whatsoever in the way that they all simultaneously averted their eyes to the tabletop. Giggling soon ensued. 

“Who will ye be bettin’ on tonight then Claire?” Gavin asked. “Fletcher’s been doing bonny this month.” 

Betting? Boy was Gavin about to see how much the fighting _really_ interested me. I smiled sweetly. “I fear there has been a misunderstanding. I will not be placing a bet tonight.” 

Disappointment followed by confusion crossed his features. “Oh? Why not?” 

I folded my arms. “Well for one, I haven’t got any money. Not one little penny to my name. It seems finding work as a soldier is quite unattainable for someone like me.”

He reddened slightly. “I’m sorry lass, I didna mean to assume the state of yer funds … I …” 

I held up a hand. “It’s quite all right.” A pause to prepare him. 

“I’m here to fight.”


	8. A Punch to the Stomach

_“I’m here to fight.”_

There. I said it. I determinately set my chin and waited for his response. 

Gavin opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. The crease between his brows deepened as he looked me up and down, deep in thought. 

I had supposed his original answer was going to be an outright no, and admittedly I had not planned for that scenario. Then it would be back to square one. 

“Are ye sure ye can handle it?” He said finally. “Because I’ll tell ye now that I dinna take responsibility for any broken bones, loss of blood, missing teeth, or any other type of bodily harm that ye may incur. Ye dinna want to get that pretty face of yours all botched up now do ye?” 

I smiled sweetly. “I have plenty of scars, I wouldn’t notice a couple more. Anything else?” 

“I also hope ye realize that all of the other fighters are men.”

I rubbed my hands together. “Excellent.” 

Of course Gavin was not going to try too hard to dissuade me. He was a businessman after all. Who wouldn’t pay to see a woman in a brawling match? He would rake in the coin due to mere curiosity. 

Everything that happened after Gavin’s overly exaggerated sigh was a blur.   
I was whisked into a back room full of large, sweaty, and shirtless men. The prominent smell of alcohol had bloody undertones. As expected, there was immediate silence followed by not so subtle whispering. 

“Aren’t ye goin’ to take off yer shirt as well lass? ’Tis only fair!” Somebody called from within the steaming mass. He was met with roaring laughter. 

My lip curled in disgust as I sat down. The light from the back of the room was suddenly blotted out as somebody approached and stood over the chair next to me. 

“Is this seat empty?” Vulgar man asked me.   
“No, but this one will be if you sit down.” I said gesturing to my own chair without turning to look at him. 

“Watch out lads, she bites!” He walked away snickering. 

“Now we ask that ye remove yer boots and any jewelry ye might be wearin’,” Gavin told me as two female attendants grabbed both of my hands and began wrapping strips of cloth around them, halfway to my elbow. 

“I - I don’t have any jewelry.” I said, recalling the whole reason I was about to perform this stunt in the first place. After toeing off my boots I held my hands up. 

“What is this for?” 

He looked up and chuckled. “It’s supposed to prevent yer knuckles from splittin’,” he paused, “. . . too badly.” 

I turned to a more practical question. “Who . . . who is going to be my opponent?” I scanned the room, looking for someone who might be similar in size to me. 

“I figured I’d put ye against Brady.” Gavin said. “He’s still pretty new, and shouldn’t crush ye, I expect.” 

“Well, tell him not to hold back.” 

_Jesus Christ what am I saying?_

After assuring Gavin I would compete and follow the same rules as any man, I stood just outside the entrance to the ring stiff as a board waiting for the introduction. Brady was already in the center, still in a bit of a shock after learning of the last minute opponent change. He was several inches shorter than Jamie, and possibly just as young with short, dark brown hair. He was muscular but thin. He seemed strong, but a bit clumsy, as if he knew not how to carry himself or use his strength. I tried to gather as much information I could before the entire crowd let out an audible gasp. 

I kept replaying the distinct sounds of everyone’s voices as they went up to bed. None of the men I was traveling with were here tonight. Paranoia made me scan the crowd over and over again. 

“Claire?” Gavin’s voice pierced the hazy cloud surrounding my head. Someone gave me a push from behind, and then I remembered how to walk. 

Nine minutes later, I was on my hands and knees gulping for air. Waiting for the blinding pain to subside where Brady had punched me in the stomach, I was also doing my very best to ignore the crowd. 

_Well what did ye think was goin’ to happen?   
Serves her right!_

Sitting once again in the room behind the ring, the chair creaked as I tipped it back so that it touched the wall. My head went back as well, allowing me to let go of the bloody cloth I had jammed up my nose. 

“Ah, Mistress Claire?” It was Brady. I think. “I - I’m verra sorry about hurtin’ ye, but Gavin said . . .” 

I swung my head forward again, the front legs of the chair hit the ground and cut him off. “Tell me something Brady.” 

He stood there expectantly, waiting for me to continue. God he looked even younger up close. 

“How many matches have you won since you started fighting here?” 

“Well including tonight, four mistress. But I almost beat Daniel last week!” 

I leaned back in the chair again and crossed my legs. “Wonderful,” I almost sneered at him. “So how many of your other three victories came with an apology?” 

The stuttering that followed indicated that he was understanding my point.   
“I’m terribly sorry mistress!” His hand flew to his mouth. 

I sighed, “It’s all right. I am well aware that I don’t belong here, but I’d prefer if you didn’t remind me.” 

This was probably my final match anyway, I thought as I heard the coins jangle in Brady’s pocket as he walked away. At this rate, it would take me until Samhain to make one single solitary cent. I tilted my head back again, closed my eyes, and let out a long sigh, followed by a longer yawn. Hearing approaching footsteps, I kept my eyes closed. I was not in the mood for further ridicule. 

The footsteps stopped in front of me, and I was jolted forward by the presence of a heavy mass tossed suddenly into my lap. Upon further inspection, said heavy mass was a pouch of coin. I looked up, and Gavin chuckled at the expression that must have colored my face. 

“I - You know I lost right?” 

“Oh aye ye did! But ye got a couple o’ hits in!” 

Crossing my arms, I waited for an explanation. Gavin continued quickly. “Listen Claire, I hope we didna scare ye too badly tonight. I want to be the first to tell ye that ye have potential. With a little practice and technique, ye can be really great. The crowd went wild for ye tonight.”

I casually tossed the pouch between my hands. “Ah, so this is to ensure my return, because you know that I have no money to my name and that I am completely dependent upon Dougal and company.” 

A pause. 

“Fine I’ll do it.” 

After quietly closing the door behind me back at our lodgings I saw a solitary figure in a chair by the fire. Just the man I wanted to see. I still had no idea if this was going to work, and my pounding heart agreed with me. Sitting down across from him, I swept my cloak behind me and lowered the hood, waiting for him to speak first. 

His eyebrow went up and the corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. “I kent ye werna tryin’ to escape. That’s why I let ye go.” 

I leaned back and crossed my legs. “I suppose I shall have to do a better job at sneaking out then, won’t I?” 

“Passing information to the English, then?” 

Enough of this. The pouch of coin thumped onto the table between us. Dougal’s eyes widened imperceptibly. 

“For Scotland.” I said. “If we stay in Nairn a bit longer I can double that. Triple if you stop using Jamie.” 

The smirk had quickly evolved into his famous malicious smile. “Ye care for the lad.” It was not a question. “However ye got this money,” he continued, “seems like an awful lot to go through for Jamie.” 

I flinched. He was right, but thankfully it wasn’t my only reason. “Well Dougal Mackenzie, it seems your patriotism has rubbed off on me. Even if I can’t understand a word of your speeches, traveling with you has taught me that the mistreatment of the Highlanders under the English crown has been unforgivable.” 

He looked suspicious, but I kept telling myself that I technically wasn’t lying, just leaving out my number one motive. _If I help to fund his war, he will trust me enough to give my ring back._

It would take some time and patience, but it all rested on this moment. The silence stretched unbearably and I kept my face set sternly. Finally he seemed to decide that this and any subsequent donations were more important than any shenanigans I could be up to. He all but snatched the bag off the table. 

“I want triple.” 

The agreement was made. 

__________________________________________________________________

The next morning saw me walking awkwardly tilted to the left with my right arm hugged across the front of my body. I had awoken to unpleasant painful throbbing, a souvenir from last night. I silently thanked whatever divine forces had ensured that my face was not sporting any bruises, cuts, or swelling. 

The next part of my plan was to stop assuming that I knew how to fist-fight simply because I wielded a bow and sword slightly above average. I found him in the back, with the horses of course. 

“Good morning, Jamie.” 

He jumped. “Sassenach, g’mornin’!” I was glad that it seemed he had put that small drunken episode behind us. I was going to have to execute this conversation as delicately as the one with Dougal the previous night, if I was going to get what I wanted. Strolling up to the horse’s muzzle, I casually gave him some scratches and continued. 

“It’s a little chilly this morning, don’t you think?” My back was turned so he couldn’t see the cringe I made at the lame remark. _Weather? Really?_

“Aye, I suppose,” he said hesitantly. “Is that why ye’re walkin’ like that?”   
He gestured to the hug I was giving myself in a vain attempt to ease the pain from the beating I took. 

“Exactly!” I answered a little too loudly, and he seemed to take my strange behavior for my usual strange behavior. 

“Sassenach?” He said slowly. “I was thinking, um, would ye like to go back to see more fighting tonight? Dougal isna makin’ me stay here for another speech.”

The word “No!” Had escaped my mouth a hair too quickly. He gave me a funny look. So much for delicate execution. “I - I mean - I thought we were all playing cards tonight!”

He blinked. “We’re playin’ cards?” 

I laughed nervously. “Of course we are! They - they didn’t tell you?!” I was speaking far too quickly and excitedly. Great. I now wanted to hit myself because directly after this I would have to find Rupert, Angus, and Murtagh and orchestrate a card game for later. I could have just faked a headache right before we left. 

“Oh. All right then. Perhaps another day.” His mention of the fighting however did provide a perfect route into the real reason I came to Jamie this morning. 

“How extraordinary is that place?” I said dreamily. 

“I had never seen yer eyes light up like they did watching it Sassenach,” he laughed. “It looked like ye were itchin’ to get into the ring.” 

Oh the irony. “Well I have a bit of a confession to make.”   
“What’s that?” I had his full attention. 

“My uncle had only ever taught me to fight with my bow and sword. I’d say I am quite pitiful at hand-to-hand combat.” 

His eyebrows rose. “Is that so? The great Claire canna throw a few punches?” 

I shoved him a bit and punched the air in front of his face, doing my very best not to wince at the stabbing pain in my side. “Of course I can. But that’s all they are, they lack actual skill or finesse.”

“Ah now I ken yer meanin’” There was still a smirk on his face. 

“I take it you are an oh so skilled fighter then?” I said, rolling my eyes. 

“I ken a thing or two.” He answered casually, leading me to believe that he knew much more than a thing or two. 

“Did your father teach you?” 

Jamie chuckled. “Actually it was Dougal. My uncle plays one brutal game of shinty.”

I snorted, “somehow I’m not surprised. Well why don’t you show me what you got?” 

“All right,” he beamed. “Some things I’ve learned over the years then.” He inclined his head, thinking. “A fool-proof way to knock out or stun yer opponent is to either get them in the jaw with a fist or an elbow, a foot or a knee to the middle of the abdomen …” 

I grimaced, remembering that one quite well. 

“… or a shot to the kidney, from the back.” He reached out with his right hand and yanked me closer by the arm. At the same time, his left elbow was making its way to the corner of my mandible. He was doing it slowly enough, so as just to demonstrate the technique but not actually hit me. That would have been fine, were it not for the intense soreness coursing through every muscle I had.

Jamie had taken me a bit by surprise, causing me to let out a gasp. “Ah …!” 

He stopped immediately. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?” The concern in his voice was heartbreaking. 

“…Ah hah! So _that’s_ how it’s done!” I unconvincingly attempted to disguise the groan of pain. Brushing the hair out my eyes, I reassured him that I was “fine.” 

“Never better, I just didn’t know it was going to be _this_ kind of lesson!” I eagerly jumped back and forth, to further demonstrate how “fine” I was.

“Well I canna explain very well without showin’ ye Sassenach,” he smiled, relieved because he thought he hadn’t hurt me. 

This was going to be a long lesson. 

“I think ye’ve had enough, Sassenach.” Jamie finally said about an hour later. 

“What … makes you … think .. that?” I huffed sarcastically, doubled over trying to catch my breath. After promptly flopping onto the bench, his tone turned a bit serious. 

“Claire, can I ask ye something?” 

“Yes?” I said cautiously. This question could not end very well. 

“About that poster we found the other night…” 

“Oh God you didn’t find anymore did you?” I started to rise, but he stopped me. 

“No, I just had a frightening thought.” Frightening indeed, his entire demeanor had changed in an instant. “’Tis just that, Randall has been through this town.” His fists began clenching and unclenching. “What if …” 

“Jamie. What?” I demanded a little impatiently, rising from the bench. He was beginning to make me nervous. 

“What if his troops were the ones who put the poster there? What if there are more … in other towns? Claire. If that man kens who ye are … I dinna ken what I would do.” 

His hands had even started to shake, which is why I felt bad for the subsequent giggling. “Jamie have you _seen_ that drawing of me?” I snorted out. After the initial shock of finding the thing, I had sat in bed and chuckled at the grossly disproportionate features before throwing it into the fire. “My nose is _not_ that big!” 

“It doesna matter. Ye are pretty easy to spot for plenty of _other_ reasons!” He said, outraged. “Please Claire, just dinna do anything stupid until we get back to Leoch?” His voice had taken on a begging tone and he did nothing to mask it. He seemed terrified, and I had the grace to stop laughing.

Preparing to lie yet again, I took a deep breath. “I promise.” 

And he looked relieved.

That evening, fake card game in place, I could not stop thinking about my morning with Jamie. I had blatantly used him to improve my fighting skills. Gazing across the table at the pure joy that had colored his face all day made it so much worse. He was blinded. Jamie was not stupid. It was quite easy to discern how odd I was acting, and he wouldn’t allow himself to see it. Guilt is not an emotion I grapple with very often, and I seriously contemplated telling him what I was up to. 

But I just couldn’t. 

The tavern was full that night. Many were demanding a speech from Dougal, having brought with them like-minded friends and relatives. I fixed the brute with a stern glare, a reminder of our deal. I received the smirk in return. 

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” He said with mock regret. “But why would ye need me? Ye dinna have yer own stories? Yer own struggles? Yer own scars?” His eyes flickered to Jamie, bluffing at the card game and blissfully enjoying the fact that his new shirt was going to remain intact. 

Soon, the Scots were getting up one by one to tell their stories and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes in Dougal’s direction. His job was doing itself now and he didn’t even need his nephew any longer. 

My annoyance with the Mackenzie war chief soon evaporated as each Highlander stood up and shared their story. I looked over at Jamie and I knew he was thinking about how the English soldiers had marched up to his home and Randall had decided that he wanted to have his way with Jamie’s sister. For some, the same exact thing had happened, but the soldiers had actually gone through with the rape. Some dragoons had taken animals, set fires, and driven families out of their ancestral estates. Some went so far as to take children away from their mothers as payment for taxes, stating that with one less mouth to feed they should be able to produce more money. 

My throat constricted as this woman began to cry in earnest. “Last I heard, he was taken to a manor in England.” Her voice wobbled considerably. “He’s workin’ in the stables, and I dinna ken if I’ll ever see him again!” She crumpled to the floor and her husband lifted her back into her seat. 

I could have easily stood up and told my tale of how the British Empire took everything from me, and how the wanted poster was proof that they’re still not satisfied. But the truth is, I have never talked about it. Sometimes I still couldn’t believe that I ended up here. Scotland, my ever present reminder of something that I can’t bear to think about. I will never speak of it partly out of spite, because I have no idea how the inner turmoil would project itself and I was quite frankly afraid to find out. 

The tears of agony and loss that accompanied what I heard this night stirred up something inside of me. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if my path to freedom from Scotland involved funding the rebellion, even it was through Dougal Mackenzie. Feeling completely unsettled, I resolved to march down to the ring as soon as everyone was in bed and kick Brady’s ass.


	9. Tea Leaves and Existential Crises

Torrential rain battered the windows. It was loud but I enjoyed the static as I sat curled up in an arm chair near the hearth with a cup of tea. My boots were strewn on the floor below in favor of woolen socks. The back of my head had a large, sensitive lump from where it had made forceful contact with the floor last night. It was now accompanied by a dull throb and minor light sensitivity. Brady had thought me unconscious, and had turned his back to celebrate a premature victory. The power I felt surging off the ground to claim the true victory was indescribable. The match was hard won but I had triumphed, and Dougal got his hands on another bag of coin this morning. 

Becoming more accustomed to the fighting techniques, I determined that I had graduated to a different opponent. A larger one, whose size I could use against him. These matches were hardly about strength, and anyone who thought otherwise was surely going to lose … to me. 

As Jamie entered the room I sat up straighter, stopped squinting, and tried to appear altogether non-concussed. His face was buried in an empty teacup as he sat in the chair across. “There’s an auld woman in the taproom readin’ tea leaves! Give her yer cup once ye’re finished.”

I shifted in my seat, letting my leg hang over the side. “You actually believe that stuff?” 

“Well, I suppose not fully. But there’s always a voice in the back of yer mind asking if it could really be true.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Yes and there is another, louder voice asking how the hell a bunch of soggy leaves could know that.” 

He feigned a pout. “Ye’re no fun, Sassenach.” 

“Well? What did your leaves say? Oh please don’t keep me in suspense.” Waving my hand in the direction of his cup, I took another sip.

Jamie inhaled deeply, as if he seemed unprepared for me to ask him this. His voice turned serious. “Well, she told me a lot had happened to me for one so young.” He shifted his shoulders, and I knew he was thinking of the scars, Randall, the death of his father. It was silly how something like this could dredge up those memories for him. How could this woman have possibly known what his life was like? 

“She said my hardships were far from over.”

I wondered what more the world could possibly do to Jamie Fraser. 

“But there will be one thing to make it all worth it.” 

I looked up sharply to find his blue eyes staring intently into mine. “One thing?” I whispered. 

And with that, the door from the taproom banged open announcing Rupert, brandishing his empty cup. “I knew it!” He said. “I’m goin’ to be a hero in battle! That will impress the lassies for sure.” 

“Let me see that!” I grabbed the cup from him and inspected the contents. “Well this lump looks a bit like a pile of shite … and would you look at that! This one looks like Dougal!” 

Rupert snatched the cup back. “What do you ken? Ye dinna have the sight!” 

I ignored him and looked into my now empty cup. “I’ve got a snake that’s eating itself, and what appears to be a lopsided bannock.”

Jamie was trying unsuccessfully to hide his laughter at Rupert’s rising anger. Rupert held his hands out for both cups; I gave them to him. “Ye ken on second glance, this clump does bear a slight resemblance to Dougal.” 

“It would seem I have got the sight after all.” 

Rupert suddenly began staring very intently into my cup. “But I would be lyin’ if I said I wasna curious about Claire’s leaves.” 

I stiffened. They still knew next to nothing about me. It wasn’t that I was afraid the leaves were going to reveal my true past. But that whatever they did reveal, true or not, they would likely believe it. Sure enough, Dougal was lurking in the corner of the room as Rupert handed my ‘fate’ to Mrs. Graham. 

She spent an awful lot of time with it, rotating it this way and that. She was squinting the whole time; her pale eyebrows knit together and she looked worried. I had noticed my heart had begun to knock against my ribcage. At last, she set it down on the counter. The only sound was some muffled conversation from some patrons in the corner; all the other mouths were shut for once and all of their eyes were locked on the fortune teller. 

“I read yer tea leaves,” she said finally. “Here’s some whisky.” 

I silently reached for the glass and took a large sip. Clearly she was about to drop a large problem onto my head. _Another_ large problem. Why was I gripping the glass so tightly? I had just finished telling Jamie how this is a load of crap. Who was this women to tell me _my_ fate? She could be making it all up for all I knew. 

I pictured her sitting back and laughing while she watched a bunch of sorry fools running around doing ridiculous things just because they believed it was their fate to do so.

“Your life has been full of tragedy.” She began. “No family, nowhere to go back to. You are an outlander no matter where on this earth you think you can run to.”

Breathing heavily, I abruptly backed off the stool. Jamie got to his feet as well. “No… you can’t know that.” 

“As for the future,” Mrs. Graham consulted the leaves again. “Should ye so choose, ye can be an integral part of something greater than yourself. It will bring ye much more sorrow, it will bring crushing defeat. But it will also bring great joy, and great passion. Ye can replace what ye’ve lost.” 

All the while she was talking her voice was mounting in intensity, and I was involuntarily backing up towards the door, pricks of tears behind my eyes. With the end of the proclamation, I turned and sprinted out. 

With absolutely no idea where I was going, I kept running. The woman had just laid my whole miserable life out before me, and before everyone. In times when emotions like this began to take control, the cool metal of my ring would give me comfort. I couldn’t even remember how many months it had been since I’d seen the damn thing. 

Should I run off without it? Is it even worth it? All throughout this roiling confusion I was dimly aware of the pouring rain. It didn’t even matter now if I was crying or not. Also becoming apparent was the fact that I didn’t bring my weapons, my cloak, or even bothered to put my boots on. I stopped and looked down at my feet. The once cozy and inviting wool socks were now soaked with mud, and my toes were quickly turning numb. 

_So what will it be Claire?_ Go back, grab your shit, have an awkward confrontation and leave? Or shall I just keep running and lose a couple toes to frostbite? I had a nice head start anyway; everyone else was likely still standing open mouthed in the taproom. 

The scariest thing was not even the harsh reminder of the death of my family. I had always considered myself a solitary person. But when she had declared that I truly had nowhere and nothing to return to, a strange weight of soul crushing loneliness had settled upon me. I had spent so much of my time trying to escape from Dougal that I didn’t even stop to think about what I was going to do when I returned to the pile of rubble that was formerly my parent’s house. My books, my wooden sword and bow, a scorched portrait of my mother lay strewn about in the ash in front of me. I don’t even remember what they looked like. 

I belonged nowhere. 

And it was during this insane inner turmoil when a sound materialized that appeared to be the approach of many riders on horseback. A streak of red between some of the farm buildings at the edge of town, and suddenly I was back in the glade in which I had first met Jamie. A bright red blob in a mass of green, and I stood cursing at myself to move, climb a tree, do _something_. 

With the same absence of thought with which I sprinted out of the tavern, I was sprinting back. The need to warn Jamie had overshadowed the tea leaves, and my feet squelched in the mud as I picked up speed, barreling back through the door. Mrs. Graham was gone. 

Jamie had returned to the chair by the hearth, his head in his hands. My boots were still on the floor a few feet away. It was as if I had never left, as if I wasn’t standing over his now startled face soaked to the skin and looking like an absolute lunatic. 

“Sassenach, what …” 

“Redcoats.” I blurted out. “You have to hide.” 

“Me? You have to hide!” He spluttered. 

I grabbed his hand and yanked him up the stairs. “All right we _both_ have to hide.” 

I brought him into my bedroom and we crouched just inside the door frame, across from one another. The hallway overlooked the taproom, allowing us to see below. Jamie was looking around the small chamber with wide eyes, as if he found it scandalous for him to be here. I laughed to myself at the thought. My room was a complete mess. The blankets had fallen off the bed, there were empty tankards everywhere, and to be quite honest, it didn’t smell that great.

Dougal was striding around the bar, inquiring about Jamie. “The lad’s done well to make himself scarce. I think some soldiers are headed towards this tavern.” He commented to Angus. “Although don’t ye find it strange the second that sassenach ran out of here, a whole squadron of English show up?” 

“Insufferable fucking _bastard_. After _everything_ I’ve done.” I groaned angrily and banged my head back against the wall; the doorframe rattled. Pain immediately radiated in all directions and I emitted a high pitched gasp, having aggravated the sore spot from my head injury the previous night. 

Jamie turned his head sharply in my direction. “Claire,” concern dripped from my name, and his hand involuntarily flew up. He forced it back down again. “Are ye all right? Ye’ve been acting quite funny lately and …” He broke off, 

So my strained movements and small winces of pain had in fact not escaped his notice. Of course not. He was more attentive to me than my own damn self. 

“What are you talking about I’m _fine_.” I quickly removed my hand from the back of my head. 

His eyes narrowed. “Ye never let anyone help you.” 

“I don’t need it or want it. I can take care of myself.” 

Whatever his next rebuke was had gotten cut off when the front door slammed open and in strode about a dozen redcoats. Loud and boisterous, they showed a complete lack of respect for the establishment. Jamie was intently scanning the crowd, undoubtedly looking for Randall. I had no idea of what he looked like. 

“He isna here,” he whispered, more to himself than to me. 

The redcoat in charge had made himself right at home. “Well what are you waiting for?” He sneered at the barman. “Ale for myself and the lads.” 

The poor flustered man scurried about behind the bar, dropping and splintering several glasses in the process. The Englishman had taken up a seat and placed his muddy boots on top of the bar. After the fifteen or so glasses of ale had been served, the redcoat flicked a penny at the barman’s head. 

“Keep the change!” The rest of the men roared with laughter. 

I started to get to my feet. “He can’t just _do_ that!” 

Jamie quickly grabbed my wrist. “Yes, Sassenach. He can.” 

The barman’s face held an expression of utter defeat. Jamie was right.   
“What brings the patrol in today, sir? Ye’re early.” 

“What? We can’t pay a visit to our favorite tavern? Didn’t you miss me?” Came the mocking reply. “Well first off, we’re about to run out of food again, so you’d better tell that little brat of yours to come load up our wagons.”

“Right away, sir.” The man’s head remained directed at the floor. 

For the next hour, the soldiers laughed and drank and harassed the women serving them beer. Jamie and I still sat across from each other. We had started to toss a balled up pair of my socks back and forth. 

“_Ow_! What did ye have throw it so hard for Sassenach?” He huffed, rubbing his eye. 

I shrugged. “I was bored.” 

Downstairs, the conversation had resumed. The Englishman in charge approached the bar with quite a nasty smile on his face before he spoke. “Rumor has it, you’re harboring fugitives. What’s more, there seems to be an attempt to stir up the rebellion in this very tavern! Among other illegal activities in this shitehole of a town.” Ah. The real reason for the visit. 

_Where the hell was Dougal?_

My eyes snapped up to Jamie’s at the very second his eyes came to mine. And for the second time that day, I wanted to run as far away from that tavern as humanly possibly. I made to get up again, wildly turning my head in all directions. Jamie had risked a quick maneuver over to my side of the doorway. His hands held my forearms, and the effect stilled me. Breathing slowing down, I wondered what ridiculous thing I might have done if his touch hadn’t brought me back.

“Claire. Ye’ve got to stay put. What can ye possibly do at this moment?” 

There it was again. His words had driven home the feeling of complete powerlessness conferred to us by the English. My arms trembled with anger and panic under his hands. 

“Fucking nothing.” 

“Nothing aye? All we can do is wait and see what happens.” He said matter of factly. 

“Jamie what if they find us?” I already knew the answer to that. I would be sent to the noose and Jamie would be sent into the arms of Jack Randall. I had never thought my days as a fugitive would come to an end like this. We crouched pressed together, sharing the tiny amount of wall between the left side of the doorframe and the washstand, waiting to see what happened next. 

Downstairs the barkeep, ever the Jacobite, was lying straight to the ugly bastard’s face. “I run a simple, honest establishment sir. I’ll no have ye comin’ in here accusing me o’ such a thing. Not to mention drinkin’ all the ale that I ken well and good ye have no intention of payin’ for! Agh!” 

He crumpled onto the countertop clutching his face into which the redcoat had just emptied his glass. 

The solider grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. His eyes were red and streaming. “See to it that you’re telling the truth then. Because there is a little English bitch and a red headed Scottish brute both of whom the Crown would love to welcome into its custody. The next patrol will be by again in two weeks. If you don’t have more food, we will be taking more coin. Get up lads, we’re leaving.” 

As the last redcoat lurched out the door, Jamie and I let out simultaneous breaths. I turned to look at him. “Are you all right, red headed Scottish brute?”

“Better than ever, little English bitch. But my arse seems to have fallen asleep.” He grinned. “I want to thank ye for coming back to warn me. I ken those tea leaves really unsettled ye.”

I had completely forgotten about the tea leaves. 

“Jamie!” Dougal’s voice sounded from somewhere above. He must have made his way up to the attic during the little English tea party. 

“Right here, Uncle.” Jamie rose, and extended a hand down to me. 

Dougal stopped in front of the doorway, and narrowed his eyes at me. “Where in the devil have _you_ been?” 

I stomped my foot and opened my mouth to give him a wise mouthed answer when Jamie gently squeezed my wrist, a sign which I took to mean _shut up_. 

“Claire was here with me the whole time. She was the one who told me to hide in the first place. She was the one who first spotted the patrol. I should think ye can place a bit more trust in her, Dougal.” He snapped at his uncle. 

I had the grace not to smirk at him over Jamie’s shoulder. 

A couple days, a couple more bags of coin, and more than a couple bruises later, I was about to return to the tavern from my latest fight. Of course, it was decided that we would be leaving this town in a few days time, before the redcoats tore the place apart looking for us, and I told Gavin as much. 

“Aye it seems that surprise patrol has put everybody on edge. I was actually going to close down the ring for a bit after tomorrow night.” 

“Well you can be sure to see me tomorrow. I wouldn’t miss my last fight for the world.” I would miss this, and I hoped I would have the opportunity to do it again someday. 

“Dinna tell anyone, but ye’re the bonniest fighter that I’ve ever seen.” He smiled. “Half the lads are scared of ye!” 

“As they should be. Goodnight, Gavin.”

After going through my ridiculous ritual of hiding behind the stables for twenty minutes and then creeping up to the window to make sure the coast was clear, I caught sight of the heinous reflection starting back at me and heaved a sigh. My breath caused a bloom of fog across the glass. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions.” 

My left eyebrow was almost completely split in two, a dark mass of congealed blood in between. It was surely going to leave me with a lovely little bald spot after it healed, and not even a win tonight to show for it. Given only half the coin I normally receive, I groaned at the prospect of a disappointed and now spoiled Dougal in the morning. 

I had been cocky and overconfident in my big genius plan and I could have split my other eyebrow myself because of how foolish I’d been. Who knows how much money I had just _handed_ over? 

_Do you not think things through on purpose or are you that stupid, Beauchamp?_

And yet, despite the fact that Scotland was accepting my donations to its fight for freedom in the form of Dougal Mackenzie’s greedy hands, it felt right somehow. 

The footsteps were completely silent. 

“Claire?”


	10. Honorary Scot, Official Jacobite

_“Claire?”_

My first instinct was to blurt, “Shit!” and jolt three feet into the air. So concerned with poking all my bumps and trying to stop the blood from leaking down my face, I had allowed someone to sneak up on me. I still hadn’t turned around. Maybe I had finally gone insane and imagined the voice, God I hoped so. 

“Claire it’s almost dawn, what the hell are ye doin’?” 

“I … How long have you been standing there?” I had finally turned to face him.

Angus crossed his arms. His boot began tapping on the ground. “Long enough to ken you’ve just done something incredibly sneaky … and I’d wager this isna the first time.” He would have taken on the air of a disappointed parent, had it not been for the confusion and blatant curiosity also present in his expression. 

And just like any manipulative schemer would do, I turned it around on him. “What were you doing out before dawn? You all _love_ to accuse me of being shifty, so let’s hear it!” 

“Claire, ye ARE being shifty!” He almost shouted at me. “And for yer information I was visiting with Margaret, since we’re leavin’ soon.” His cheeks turned light pink. 

Oh yes, his big breasted friend. How horribly anticlimactic and boring. I supposed telling him I went for a walk was not even worth the breath.

“And Christ, what happened to yer face?” _Now_ he mentions my face. 

“I um … fell?” 

He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “I ken I’m not terribly bright Claire, but ye insult me so. If I ken but one thing about ye, it’s that ye did not maul up yer face because ye _fell_.” 

His eyes fell to the skin just below my elbow and they popped wide open as he quickly grabbed it and shoved my own hand into my face.  
“Is that a bite mark?!” 

Oh dear. Any chance of lying my way out of this was quickly dissipating, not that I had had a good shot in the first place. They were in fact, teeth marks. Small indentations lined the top and the underside of my arm; they were an angry red color, and quickly becoming tinged with purple. I inspected them more closely. It seemed that my opponent had extremely crooked teeth. 

“Um yes, but …” 

“Are ye drunk?” He cut me off. 

I crossed my arms in defiance. “Well not to brag but I don’t need alcohol to do things that I’ll regret.”

He looked at me long and hard, his hand scratching at something underneath his beard. I had been edging my way towards the door, although I knew I would have to demand his silence somehow. 

“Oh no Claire, if ye dinna tell me what ye’ve been doing, I’m going to make sure everyone in this whole tavern knows ye’ve been running late night errands.” 

“All right all right!” I said quickly to shut him up. “But nobody knows and it better stay that way.” 

“Can I be there when ye tell Dougal and Jamie that ye _fell_?” He smirked. 

A dog barked somewhere in the distance and I jerked him into the stables. Brushing stray hairs out my face, I winced as some of them caught in the mass of curdled blood on my head. 

“I’m going to tell them I fell, and _you_ are going to back me up. Got it?” I hissed in his ear. “Now if you insist on knowing where I went, I had been fighting in the ring for the past week or so. Gavin has been paying me.” 

Angus’s eyes popped open again. “_That’s_ why ye’ve been keeping us away from there!” It was then he heard the jingling in my pocket. “Jesus how much has he been payin’ ye?”

“Enough.” 

“Ye’re going to run. Aren’t ye?” An unnecessary question really. They’ve all known this from the second they met me. 

“That’s … I … Dougal has all of it. For the Jacobites.” 

He softened a bit. “But why?” 

And the words came gushing out of me. “Because I want my damn ring back and I want to get as far away from Dougal as I can. All of the mistrust and all the shite I get for being English is quite honestly draining me. I want to go home.” 

Home. 

I shouldn’t have used that word. 

_You are an outlander no matter where on this earth you think you can run to._

I sat down heavily. “But that’s the thing. I’ve spent years as a ghost and I don’t even know where home is anymore, I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to be doing. I thought I did. But the fighting, it was like medicine to me, it makes me feel passionate, it makes me forget. After we leave this town, nothing is going to change. I feel trapped. Directionless.” 

It was true. It was as if somebody plucked me from Uncle Lamb’s side and plopped me into the middle of a vast ocean. I could stay afloat but for what? Everywhere I turned there was a huge expanse of nothing. 

Angus sat down next to me. “Can I tell ye something? For what it’s worth, I trust ye, and ye look right at home, covered in blood and stinking like a man.” 

I gave him an honest smile, “Thank you.”

“But what about …” Angus closed his mouth and scooted away. Clearly what he about to say might result in my elbow colliding with his ribs. 

“What about _what_? Jamie?” I answered harshly. “What about him?” 

I don’t know why his question made me bristle as much as it did, and what I said next did not improve matters in the slightest.

“Please don’t tell him about this.” 

He caught the note of extreme seriousness in my voice. “Aye.” Was all he whispered in return. I traced the path his eyes took, out the wide stable door and up to the candle in Jamie’s window. 

Inside, he helped me clean the wound as quietly as possible, and we trudged up to bed. Stripping off my sweaty garments, I groaned as I tugged loose the strip of fabric I used to bind my breasts. I had tried a corset once, but declined to ever do so again in favor of proper breathing and being able to bend at the waist. 

Knowing that I wouldn’t sleep, I still tried in vain. I supposed I felt better, but only in the sense what I was able to get everything off my chest and hear my feelings out loud. Angus was a good listener, but the conversation should have been had with Jamie, and there was no telling how that would have gone and who would have walked away hurt. Although it probably would have been both of us. 

My body so desperately wanted to be unconscious but my mind wouldn’t let it. About two hours had passed and the first light of day gently lit the room. There was a soft knock on the door, and I heard Dougal’s voice from the other side. 

“Get up, lass.” 

Of course he’d be wanting the money. I hurriedly tugged on some pants and a shirt and grimaced at the blood stains on the pillow. Evidently I had been oozing. Opening the door halfway in an attempt to cover my face, I thrust the pouch into his hand. “I know it’s not as much as last time, I’m sorry.” 

“Never mind that lass. Get yerself together. Yer comin’ on a little trip wi’ me today.” Then he briskly walked away toward the stairs. Clearly the matter was not up for discussion. 

_This is it._ I thought as I retied the knot on top of my head. He’s gotten all the money he can out of me and now he’s going to take me somewhere and kill me. I quietly slid the small knife Jamie had left in my room the other day into my boot. 

_Not if I kill you first._

Up close and personal, no arrows. He’d never see it coming. I imagined how it would go down. He’d lunge at me, I’d grab his throat and press the knife into the very spot I knew would bring death. A slow death, but death nonetheless. I wanted him to watch me reclaim my ring and finally be free of him. 

“So kind of ye to finally make it.” Dougal said when I reached the stables. He’d already saddled a horse for me. “Daydreamin’ up there?” 

“Actually yes.” 

He didn’t question me further as we set out. After riding in silence for about an hour I had worked myself up to the point where my hands were quite clammy and I was overly aware of the sgian dhu waiting in my boot. The tiny knife couldn’t have been more than one pound but it felt like ten. 

The hilly moor began to give way to forest. My horse followed Dougal’s of its own accord, allowing me to slouch back in the saddle and stare off into space. The trees that blurred by were becoming denser, and something caught my eye. Someone had set up camp on a distant hill. Strange, the hill seemed to rise up relative to everything around it, why expose yourself like that? 

Squinting and craning my neck back to the mysterious hilltop, it was enough for me to break the silence that had stretched for the entire ride. “What on earth is that?” I said it more to myself, but Dougal answered anyway. 

“Ancient faerie stones called Craigh na Dun.” He sounded almost wary. “Used by our ancestors for rituals, and said to be a gateway between worlds.” 

My mouth twisted. That concealed more than it illuminated. These Scots and their superstitions. I thought back to those wretched tea leaves and supposed anything was worth believing. 

The gentle thump of hooves striking grass gave way to the sound of crunching leaves. Dougal’s head was turning this way and that. We were close to our destination. My muscles tensed further in anticipation. The small spring looked peaceful enough, but Dougal had succeeded in choosing a secluded place. Then the smell hit me, and my face involuntarily contracted. Rotten eggs. 

Dougal caught it and laughed; I was not about to turn my back to him. “I ken it doesn’t smell like roses, but there’s a reason I took ye here.”   
There must have been a reason. Why ride over an hour for a drink from a spring that smelled like hell? I stiffened. _To conceal the smell of a corpse?_

He stared at me for a long moment, eyebrows raised. “There seems to be a bit of blood comin’ out of that head wound ye still haven’t told me about.” 

I started and then gently touched my fingertips to the wound in question. They came away bloody. “So there is.” I smiled sweetly. “Please excuse me a moment.” 

Kneeling by the edge of the spring, I made sure to keep him in my peripheral vision. The water was cool and it had an odd slippery quality. Throat parched with nerves, I took a big swallow before proceeding to wash the cut. Bracing myself for a taste to match the smell, it never came. The water was crisp and pure. Face dripping, I turned to find Dougal staring at me with an odd expression.

I shortly exhaled through pursed lips, causing the water to spray outward. “What?” 

“I’m going to ask ye once more.” He said, tone turned quite serious. “Are ye a spy for the English?”

I stood up and crossed my arms impatiently. “For the _final_ time,” I seethed, “I am _not_ a fucking spy! Are you going to tell me why you’ve taken me here?” 

His eyes narrowed as he sneered back at me. “Are ye going to tell me what’s happened to yer face? Or do I have to attend one o’ yer fights to get a better idea?” 

I would have liked to maintain a cool, collected expression at this remark. I also should not have been surprised at Dougal’s knowledge of my clandestine activities in the slightest. My eyes had widened nonetheless and he laughed humorlessly. 

“Angus …?” I said weakly, although I already knew it wasn’t him. 

“Angus didna tell me ye wee dolt. Gavin did when I collected the rent from his family’s farm.” 

“Ah.” I breathed, weaker still. It seemed I had failed to discuss the secrecy of my appearances with my sponsor. So Dougal knew my plan. He’d taken me here in order to kill or threaten me, thus preventing my escape and subsequent report back to my imaginary English superiors. 

He had turned his back to me before he resumed speaking. “Ye’re verra messy, Claire.” 

His back thus turned, I saw my chance. Of course the leaves underfoot would make sneaking up close difficult. A charge then, and a quick jab in the kidney. My heart instantly began pounding. 

He was shaking his head and laughing, genuinely this time. “Verra messy, not to mention clumsy. Ye’d make a terrible spy, and I’m sorry its taken me till now to believe ye.” 

My hand froze on its way toward the knife. “Wait what?”

He tilted his head and regarded me with considerably less menace than he had in all the time I’d known him. “Well ye drank from the Liar’s Spring aye? And yer still standin’ here.” 

I gawked at him. If it had been this easy I would have dragged him here a long time ago. Evidently this place was called St. Ninian’s Spring. Anyone who drank from it and then told a lie would meet a fiery end quite swiftly, what with the reek of hell so close by. 

“Dinna look so relieved yet, I’ve a few more questions.” 

I sat down heavily and looked at him with raised eyebrows and expectant annoyance. As long as I didn’t burst into flames, he’d be satisfied. And if I did? Well, he would probably still be satisfied.

“So ye really are a fugitive of the Crown?” 

“Yes. It wasn’t just some cover up. Neither was the money I gave you.” 

He nodded solemnly. “I must admit ye had me a bit confused when ye began yer … donations. Give me money and with it, a false sense of security and trust? Yer right clumsy Claire, but I wouldna put _that_ past ye.” 

Indeed. For that had been my plan the entire time. Or had it?

“So now you see why I kept the fights from you. To be caught sneaking off in the middle of the night?” I laughed ruefully. “You’d never believe me.” 

He nodded again but there was a long pause before he spoke, very softly.   
“Can I ask why?” 

My teeth momentarily clenched together. Hard.   
“I’d rather you didn’t.” The words sounded strained and dry, barely above a whisper.

The air shifted; a chilling breeze blew tiny ripples across the stinking pool. Dougal had turned, and was staring at the wall of boulders on the side of the clearing. But he was seeing something else.   
“You’ve seen his back.” 

I inhaled sharply, and that was all the encouragement he needed to continue. 

“I was there, ken.” 

Whether I offered a response or not didn’t matter, for he meant to tell the tale either way. I found that my hands had clenched themselves tightly together. I did not want to hear this. I couldn’t. It felt like a betrayal of Jamie’s trust from when he first showed me the scars. But I had to. 

So I listened to how Jamie and his still raw wounds were paraded out of his cell at Fort William. I imagined Jack Randall’s eyes lighting up upon seeing him. I imagined the cords of Jamie’s neck taut with pain as he attempted to remove his shirt, which Dougal had described as barely more than a rag and almost completely crusted with the red-brown of dried blood. Jamie had carefully folded it as if it were made of silk, his last shred of dignity. And he meant to keep it. Hearing this part of the story almost wasn’t as bad as the flogging itself. He had hung unconscious by the wrists for the latter half or so, unaware of Randall’s deranged face behind him, splattered with Jamie’s blood. 

When his account had ended, my shoulders slumped and a shaky breath rattled out of my mouth. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I ken ye care about Jamie and I ken ye care about Scotland.” 

Perhaps I needed Dougal to say it before I truly realized it. Murtagh had tried to tell me as well. The truth was that I felt more Scottish than English, and I really didn’t want to leave my Highlanders. They looked out for me. I could be whoever I wanted around them, and it didn’t matter if who I wanted to be was a hunter and fighter . . . a protector. I wanted to be myself. 

“Well ye’re already a fugitive aye? Might as well be full blown traitor while you’re at it.” 

An unexpected laugh rose to the surface. “Do you know what? That doesn’t sound so bad.” 

It was strange how nonchalantly I had made the decision to change my life. The first time had been an accident, but now I was the one drawing my own map. Scotland was flailing under England, and it had gotten worse during my short time here. I saw it everyday. Whether it was in the form of hunger, poverty, families being torn apart, or religious persecution, England was not just using Scotland for revenue. It was threatening their way of life, a rich and ancient culture that I respected and cared for very much . . . as much as I had resisted it. Then there was everything that had been done to Jamie, including double flogging and exile to France. 

I supposed my deal with Colum was broken, as I had now effectively joined his brother in the exact kind of reckless acts he was looking to prevent to protect the Mackenzie clan. 

“Why did ye no tell anyone the Crown was after ye?” His last loose end. 

That was an easy one. “The fewer people that knew, the safer I felt. I’m sure you knew I had planned to leave your company as soon as possible, and I wasn’t looking to leave a trail leading right to me.” 

He made a Scottish noise in his throat which I took to indicate understanding. The breeze had returned as we sat in silence for a while. Dougal purposefully rose to his feet, smoothed his kilt, and extended a hand to me. 

“Welcome to the fight then, Claire.”


	11. My Own Protector

A weight had been lifted, and I felt wonderful. I practically danced back through the doorway of the tavern, but the sight of Jamie stopped me dead in my tracks. I saw Dougal follow his line of sight directly to the gash on my head. Jamie’s nostrils flared ever so briefly.

“The … the horse kicked me.” I shrugged and looked at the ceiling. 

“Aye, ye ken how that filly can be sometimes.” Dougal then made a horrible attempt at a casual throat clearing noise and swiftly made for the stairs. 

“I thought ye kent not to stand directly behind her.” Jamie mumbled as he rose and headed for the stables. He did not meet my eyes.

It was getting increasingly difficult to lie. The fact that Dougal now knew about it did not make lying to Jamie any better. It actually made it worse since Dougal had aided me in said lie. 

In any case, I would only have to do it for one more night and make it out with no obvious lacerations or contusions. Tonight was the last fight, and this time I was not plagued by my former ulterior motive. Perhaps someone in possession of more common sense than I had might have decided not to go. 

What was the point? Dougal trusted me now. Gavin would close the ring for a while after tonight, so a huge portion of the town was likely to be there. The point was I wanted them to watch me prove I could win. 

The sight of Jamie’s face drawn with desperation as he begged me not to do anything foolish swam around the back of my mind all day. I finally forced it out as I wrapped myself in my cloak, preparing to leave. I bypassed Angus’s and Dougal’s rooms; they knew tonight was the last one. 

Rupert and Murtagh were now the only way in which my secret could get back to Jamie. I stopped outside Rupert’s door, from which issued loud, hog-like snoring. Next was Murtagh’s door, from which came more snoring, but less hog-like. Jamie’s door had no candlelight underneath. After straining my ear against it until I was satisfied that I had heard no noise from within, I painstakingly tip toed down the stairs. 

The taproom was empty, except for a figure in the armchair by the fire. I couldn’t see their face, for their back was turned and they too wore a dark traveling cloak. The stranger absentmindedly prodded the dying embers with the poker; sparks flew out of the dull-glowing log as it broke in two. If they knew I was there, they didn’t turn around. They still didn’t turn as I walked out the door, closing it very slowly behind me. 

__________________________________________________________________

Jamie had dared not breathe until he was positive that Claire was gone. He’d made a frantic grab for the poker and tried to appear to be nonchalantly moving the ashes around. He wished he’d had the sense to pour himself a cup of ale, maybe that would have made it more believable. But no, Claire had left as quickly as she could. 

He knew she wasn’t very likely to try and talk to him. She had wanted to make as little noise as possible, although her attempt to descend the stairs sounded quite like a tip-toeing elephant. He waited a minute or two to give her a head start, and then rose to follow. If nobody was going to tell him the truth, then he would find out for himself. 

Claire was a terrible liar; she looked at anything and everything except the person she was lying to, and she repeatedly scratched her nose. Dougal was a seasoned liar, but Jamie knew his game. He’d give an indifferent shrug to belittle one’s perfectly valid suspicions. 

Stepping into the chilly night, he drew up the hood of his cloak and watched Claire’s back reach the end of the street and turn left. His stomach gave a lurch.   
He knew beyond doubt where she was going, but he had hoped to God that he was wrong. He was even nursing some half baked wish that she really was an English spy. But no, that wasn’t true. As tough a demeanor as she liked to build for herself, Jamie witnessed its foundations crumble more than once. In the forest with the two soldiers on the day they met, and on the day she glimpsed the English marching toward Nairn.

She always fought to keep her hands steady, and Jamie knew her well enough by now to know this came with great effort. What really gave her away was how all of the color drained from her already pale face, leaving a strange tinge of gray. How the muscles of her cheeks and neck popped out from clenching her teeth together as hard as she possibly could. It was the same way she had appeared when the stables had caught fire. But that time he liked to think that they had been alone and therefore she let her fear show plainly, tired of the effort it normally took to conceal it. Her own countrymen terrified her.

He felt like a fool because she had been able to lie to him so easily, inept at it as she was. He should have known sooner. He should have known long before she’d slashed her head open. Christ, she had even asked him to help her improve her fighting skills, and he’d happily obliged just grateful to spend time with her. 

She’d been withdrawn from him ever since the soldiers had occupied the tavern. They hadn’t spoken much; she had taken to sleeping for a large portion of the day. She was always covering up strange and unexplained bruises. As much as it pained him to see her willingly hurt herself, there was another deeper fear lurking in the back of his mind that he hadn’t yet been able to identify. 

Claire suddenly whipped around in the middle of the darkened street, the moon outlined her in silver and the frayed ends of her scarf swayed gently in the breeze. She didn’t have her sword or bow on her, but he saw her hand dart to her belt where he knew there was a dagger. She always kept the scarf and dagger close; they had both come from Jamie. A bit of cloth ripped off the end of his tartan offered to her as a makeshift scarf a few days after the rent party set out. She had been shivering. 

Jamie pressed himself against the nearest building until she decided that the coast was clear. His lips pressed into a thin line as he noticed a slight limp. He peered around the next corner as she had just finished having a laugh with the man at the front door and disappeared down the stairs. Two minutes later, he descended as well, and his eyes widened in surprise when he reached the bottom. There was more than twice the number of people here since they had first come. There was already a fight underway, but Claire was nowhere to be seen. 

“Do ye reckon that lass is going win tonight?” A conversation at the table to his left had Jamie inching over to listen. 

The other man grunted. “Weel she’d better win, or else I’ll kill Dougie for tellin’ me to put my money on her!” 

“Excuse me,” Jamie addressed them. “Are ye talking about the Sassenach? D’ye ken where I can find her? I’m a … big fan.” He added hastily when he saw their matching suggestive grins.   
“Oh aye?” The first man laughed. “What makes ye think she’ll fancy _you_? One look from her and ye feel as if she’s already kicked ye in the balls!” 

Jamie knew the look well; she gave it to Dougal quite a lot. The other man elbowed his companion. “Ach we canna blame the lad. After all, ye’ve said yerself that ye’ve never seen a pair of breeks look that good!” 

Jamie felt his face begin to heat with anger, and he wanted nothing more than to drag their drunk arses into the ring right now and beat them both. He grabbed the shirt of the man nearest to him. “Either tell me where she is, or else _I_ will kick ye in the balls for her.” He snarled.

The man ducked and pointed to a door in the corner. “She’s probably in the back with Gavin!” Jamie threw him back in the chair and headed for the door. He imagined bursting in on her and declaring that he had known what she was up to the whole time. But that thought was followed almost immediately by a sour taste in his mouth. It didn’t seem like the right way for her to find out. He didn’t want to embarrass her; he didn’t want her to feel ashamed. 

It was then that he decided that he would not let her see him, and that he had only come to watch over her, to make sure she didn’t get hurt. He would watch the fight and go right back to the tavern. 

Inside the door, there was a hallway with multiple smaller rooms on either side. It smelled like sweat and the floor had blood stains of varying shades of red brown splattered across it. 

“So, the soldiers will be here again by the end of the month?” 

“Yes, that’s what they told the barman. Are you still going to close the ring?” 

Jamie’s head snapped up at the sound of Claire’s voice, coming from a room at the end of the hall. 

“Aye, for a couple weeks I think.” Gavin answered. “Do ye really have to go though? I’ll give ye a room in the inn to stay while the ring is closed. ”

“I can’t stay here forever just to fill your pockets. Besides, I have things to do.” 

“Have I no’ been filling your pockets as well?” 

“Well, I’ve been filling Dougal Mackenzie’s. For the Jacobites.”

Just then a very large bald man with a close cropped black beard exited the room on the opposite side. He had more hair on his chest than Claire had on her head, and thick veins lined his forearms. 

“Oh Tom! In here if you please.” Jamie saw Gavin’s shadow beckon him over. “Claire, I thought I’d have ye fight Tom here to make yer last fight one we’ll never forget aye?” 

Claire snorted. 

Jamie felt his chest seize up and his throat go dry. _Never forget?!_ Surely he must be referring to the head trauma that Claire was likely to incur from fighting this man. What could possibly have happened to her, to make her fear a red coat more than _this?_

“Easiest money I’ve ever made.” The man’s voice was much deeper than Jamie’s. 

“Go ahead, underestimate me. That’ll be fun for you.” Claire said darkly. “You’re just a big blundering bear with no teeth _or_ claws.”

Jamie clapped a palm to his forehead and went back through the door find an inconspicuous place to watch. _The wee idiot!_ It would seem that her trash talking had made all of her opponents forget any reservations they may have had about fighting a woman. 

The talking died down as Gavin stepped into the center of the ring to end the previous match. He looked around, enjoying the enthralled look on his patrons’ faces. “Now I understand that many of ye came tonight to see a certain wee Sassenach.” 

The crowed erupted into cheers, and Jamie was feeling more sick by the second. He felt a strange pang of possessiveness at the word Sassenach. It would never mean the same thing coming out of someone else’s mouth. 

Gavin held his arms up to silence them. “Now ye should ken that tonight is her last fight, but let me first introduce her opponent. For those of ye who dinna ken, Tom Campbell here has never lost a fight.” And out walked the bear. Some people cheered, some murmured excitedly, some doubtfully. Jamie wasn’t sure how this could possibly get any worse.

“Now, without further ado, I give ye the Sassenach!” 

Claire hurdled over the side of the wooden barrier of the ring. Tucked into the breeks, she wore a simple white cloth shirt. Her hands had been wrapped in linen strips to the middle of her forearm, and she wore no shoes. The little piece of Jamie’s tartan was now tied in her hair. There was no obvious expression on her face. She had opted instead for quiet intensity. 

“Opponents will now shake hands.” Gavin had to remind them. 

Tom Campbell’s hand completely engulfed Claire’s. He saw the tendons pop out as he squeezed a little too hard. Claire snatched her hand back and her lip curled. 

As the match began, it became apparent that not everyone was a Sassenach fan. It was hard enough for Jamie to ignore the scathing insults some people were yelling, but it was almost impossible to keep himself from running into the ring and knocking out Tom Campbell himself. If Claire knew he was here, she’d want him to trust her, and let her hold her own against this man. 

Tom had already landed a punch or two right into her mouth. Her face was the at the perfect hight for his fists. The top of her head rose barely to the middle of his chest, bun included. 

But she was still standing, and she didn’t seem to be in pain. She was light on her feet as she danced around him, dodging the majority of his blows. She drove her fist with all her might into Tom’s abdomen, and he threw back his head in laughter. Claire had backed away, shaking out her hand.

She had yet to get any solid hits on him. She seemed to be waiting for something. “Whatever is the matter?” She taunted. “Am I too fast for you? Am I making you dizzy?” The man roared and lunged at her. 

_“Claire!”_ Jamie screamed her name, but it was drowned out by the crowd. 

When the dirt had settled, the crowd has gone silent. Claire was on her stomach, and the brute had her left arm bent and pinned painfully against her back. The littlest finger stuck out at an odd angle. Her face was drawn with pain but there was the hint of a smile in the corner of her mouth. “Well you’re going to feel downright foolish Tommy.” She said. “You probably should have taken _both_ of my arms.” 

She turned as much as she could to the right, and threw the handful of dirt she had concealed in her right hand right into his eyes. He shrieked and fell to his knees, now right in her range. The rest of the fight lasted less than ten seconds but Jamie felt as if he was watching in slow motion. 

She was on her feet again faster than lighting. After paying him back with interest for the punches she received, she grabbed his arm and drew him forward. Tom Campbell, eyes streaming, could barely see what was about to happen to him. 

Jamie watched with a mixture of horror and a little bit of pride as he saw all of his own techniques executed perfectly and lethally. Claire’s elbow collided with the man’s mandible, and the ear splitting crack silenced everyone. But she wasn’t done yet. She had then jumped over a foot off the ground. On the way down, both of her feet had planted themselves firmly into Tom’s chest and knocked him back with such a force that the sound of his head colliding with the wooden barrier sounded almost like a gunshot. He lay crumpled and moaning on the dirt floor. 

Claire stood there alone, hunched over with her hands on her knees and chest heaving. If she was surprised that she won, she was purposely not showing it. There was a new gash on her temple. Hair was stuck to her forehead, which was shining with sweat. A deep red splotch bloomed in white of her eye. Her mouth was slightly open as she took rhythmic, panting breaths. Blood had pooled inside her lip, and she spat it onto the ground. She looked terrifying and beautiful all at once, almost like she wasn’t even real. 

Gavin announced her the winner. Some of the patrons were clapping and cheering. Others simply stared at her in open-mouthed disbelief. The fight was over, and Jamie had meant to leave but he was rooted to the spot. Claire slowly straightened up. She had been staring off into space and she extended her hand out to Gavin without looking at him. He dropped an enormous bag of coin into her palm.  
And Jamie was finally able to identify his deepest fear. Although he cared for her safety more than anything, he cared for Claire herself even more. She was going to use that money to leave, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. It was what she wanted for months, and he had always pushed it back behind his brain, out of sight. He could never ask her to stay, it didn’t seem right. He had made the mistake of thinking he meant more to her than this.

It was as though someone has turned his hearing back on, and the screaming of the crowed came rushing back. Somehow, Jamie knew exactly what Claire was going to think if she saw him. But he didn’t have to wait much longer to have it confirmed. He was rooted to the spot unable to look away, and they had suddenly locked gazes from all the way across the room. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. The spell was broken and he hastily made for the exit and wondered miserably if she’d be gone come morning. Honest feelings and bad timing make the most painful combination. 

_________________________________________________________________

_Fuck fuck fuck._ And everything had been going so horribly _right_ too. The initial shock was draining away and quickly becoming replaced by anger. I had spent the entire evening being so happy with myself. It was almost over, and he had been there the whole _fucking_ time.

I shouldered my way through the crowd with great difficulty. Hands came from all directions to pat me on the back. Someone tried to hand me a pint. I had finally broken through to the back where I roughly pulled on my outer clothing and my boots. I sensed somebody standing in the doorway behind me. 

“Excellent fight, sassenach.” It was Peter. 

“Do _not_ call me that.” I said acidly. 

“What’s the matter? You’ve just won!” There was something odd about the expression on his face, like he was keeping a fantastic secret and he wanted me to beg to know what it was. 

“Doesn’t feel like it. Get out of my way.” 

He pushed a greasy flap of hair back off of his forehead. “Where’s that red head?”   
“Jamie? Hell if I know.” Technically not a lie, as I in fact did not know his exact location but I could hazard a guess. Why would Peter care anyway? It inexplicably bothered me and I pushed past him out the back door, bumping him with my shoulder a little harder than necessary. 

Jamie was halfway back to the tavern when I caught up with him. He stopped in the middle of the alleyway as he heard my running feet stop suddenly behind him. He didn’t turn around, plainly wanting me to speak first. 

“Who told you?” Was all I could think to begin with.

He whirled around and ran both of his hands roughly through his hair. “No one told me Claire. I could almost laugh out loud upon hearing such a question. You may as well have told me, instead of trying to keep track of all yer stories. That must have gotten so tiring for you.” 

I chewed my lip, not having expected to get so mad so early in the argument. “Why are you even here? Did you want to catch me? Well congratulations. You’ve done it. What are you going to do now? Drag me back to Dougal? Or perhaps pour me a glass of whisky so you can have another excuse to put your face right up to mine?” 

He’d been trying to cut me off during my rapid-fire questioning. But now his mouth had pressed into a thin line. He attempted to put on a mask of anger to match mine but I could still see the hurt in his face. I was trying to upset him, and telling him that whisky-filled night meant nothing to me did a pretty good job of it. The Claire Beauchamp in that moment did not care. 

“I only wanted to make sure you were safe.” He said quietly. 

“Well I don’t need you to okay?” I shot back at him. “I didn’t ask you to watch over me. I won didn’t I?” 

“Aye ye won but at what cost? Ye’re purple from head to toe and I’ll be damned if that finger isna broken. What’s worse, ye’ve deliberately risked the English finding ye!” 

I quickly put the finger in question behind my back. It was beginning to take the form of a small sausage. I then decided against my better judgement to escalate the fight into a full blown shouting match. 

“Stop trying to discipline me like a child! I’m _fine_. The English aren’t coming back for weeks, and in case you didn’t hear me before, _I won_. And everyone saw it.” 

Jamie threw his hands up in exasperation. “Christ Claire ye’ll do anything for spite d’ye ken that? Don’t ye care that ye’ve already proven yerself to the people that actually matter?” He said desperately. 

“What if that’s not good enough for me?” I spat back. 

He bowed his head. “Then I hope ye ken ye’ll never be satisfied.” 

Then, when my coin pouch fell with a seemingly deafening clank onto the ground between us, I thought that night the universe wanted all of our unspoken issues to be laid out before us. We both stared silently at it for a few seconds before I swiped it back and tucked it into my belt. 

“But ye care about yer so-called freedom even more than spite aye?” His voice held an odd note almost like he rehearsed this, or at least spent a very long time thinking about it. 

“You hate being alone. Ye think ye’ve gotten used to it, that it’s the only way for you. And that's why ye’re ready to run away like a frightened little rabbit, even when ye’ve found a new family.” 

I opened my mouth to speak but he stopped me. The dam had been broken. 

“Dinna think I haven’t seen ye pass money on to Dougal every morning thinkin’ he’ll reward ye with your ring. And dinna think I don’t know that you’re going to l-leave with all haste the second ye get it back! All this nonsense about the Jacobites.” 

Then very quietly, “somehow the fact that ye’re hiding it makes it worse. You hate that someone is able to make ye feel something.” He finished, breathing raggedly.

He had taken several steps forward during his speech, as if to impress upon me the magnitude of what he was saying. Of what he was feeling. He was now standing less than a foot from me. I thought to the onlooker that it must have looked like we were about to tear each other apart in the ring.   
I had stopped shouting but where my voice lacked volume, it was now filled with venom. “Jacobite nonsense? The story of an innocent boy flogged half to death _doesn’t_ mean nothing to me Jamie. Neither does the fact that families are being torn apart and culture is being destroyed. Perhaps you should think again before you claim to know me so well. Because _guess what._”

I had been repeatedly jabbing my finger into his chest as I spoke. Now, I reached inside the neck of my shirt, drew out the ring, and held it up to his face. It spun gently to and fro in midair, glinting slightly in the moonlight. 

“Dougal already gave it back you _bastard._ And I’m still here.”


End file.
